


lay me down in sheets of linen

by ninibearr (starsandsnipesforever)



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV, WayV (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Coffee Shops, College AU, Drug Use, Enemies to friends with Benefits, Friends With Benefits, Friends With Benefits to ?????, Jealousy, M/M, Smut, eventual angst, nightclubs, rival taeyong, unwarned for side pairings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-01-22 18:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21306320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandsnipesforever/pseuds/ninibearr
Summary: Ten is an arts student and an aspiring dancer that dreams of Europe and gives nothing short of his best. His tastes are far too sophisticated for the likes of ear-gauged, vaping EDM producers.Even if said EDM producer happens to be six foot tall and completely gorgeous.(01/20/20 Note: On hiatus until beginning of Feb)
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 70
Kudos: 170





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been highkey craving JohnTen lately, and I had this idea a little while ago about Ten being this pretentious, sophisticated arts student and Johnny by contrast just being this total EDM eboy, hahaha. I thought I could get it out of my system with a couple drabbles, but no, it had the opposite effect, and this WHOLE RIDICULOUS IDEA SPAWNED OUT OF IT, and anyway, here we are.
> 
> If you happened to read those drabbles, I did kind of take a different direction with this than what I wrote initially.
> 
> I want to say this will be about ten chapters, but I'm not entirely sure just yet. Updating will just depend on how busy I am, but I do have this whole thing thoroughly outlined, so I'm not completely leaping in the dark here.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy~

Ten is officially irritated.

It’s not the people brushing off the flyers he’s handing out, the skeptical glances he receives as he delivers his pitch about his upcoming performance at the local, indie café. It’s not the forced grins or fake hums he mostly receives as they accept a flyer only to toss it in the nearby waste bin after they pass. It’s not even the occasional rude remarks or names uttered under hostile breaths. 

Ten is used to that. The life of an aspiring artist comes with a less-than-glamorous side—is practically driven by one, honestly. Some people might see themselves above such work as flyer distribution, but Ten knows better. Making it in such an impossible industry requires such work no matter how much talent one possesses. 

One’s talents can only take them as far as the audience they can amass, after all. 

No, that’s not what has Ten irritated. He can handle this. It’s a right of passage, in fact—starting his way from the bottom like all the great artists before him. True artists have to work their way up, crawl their way sometimes. Free passes are for the sellouts. 

What has Ten irritated on this particular Saturday evening—standing on the corner of Main Street down to the row of all the densest social gatherings from the nearby campus that he and many others attend—comes in the form of a six foot tall, typical EDM bro, with his gauged ears, his electronic screeches blasting from the oversized headphones hanging from his neck, and his blueberry puffs of vapor filling the air every few minutes. 

“Five dollar cover at the Blue Room next Wednesday,” Ten hears his voice from behind him. Ten turns to look back to see an upperclassman accepting the highlighter yellow flyer from tall EDM bro whilst crumbling the flyer Ten had just given him in his other hand. “Two dollar PBRs, three dollar shots.” 

Ten doesn’t quite realize how long he’s been unconsciously letting his gaze linger until the student continues about his business, and the tall, aspiring DJ turns his attention to him. A lighthearted grin spreads across his lips, and it’s obnoxious. 

“You like Trap?” the DJ asks. 

Ten turns away, letting his back answer for him as he eyes a laughing group of jocks crossing the walkway their direction. 

“Hmm, maybe you’re more of a Trance kind of guy?” the boy continues, undeterred by Ten’s cold shoulder. “Or House music? Hardstyle? Drum and bass?” He hums, then adds with an exaggerated inflection of uncertainty, “… Industrial?” 

“You might as well be speaking Greek for as much sense as that makes to me,” Ten finally answers without turning around. 

As the group of jocks headed their way draws nearer, Ten thumbs out one of his flyers and steps up to them. “Luna’s is having a free live—“ 

“Not interested.” The nearest muscled guy swats at Ten’s hand as the group passes by laughing. 

Ten looks back to see EDM bro hold one of his out with a simple, “Yo,” while the group idly accepts the flyer with a quick, “Sup.” 

Ten rolls his eyes and huffs. 

Behind him, he hears the sharp inhale of what promises to be another cloud of Blueberry mist, and the next pulse against his temple feels particularly hot. 

“You know,” he starts, spinning on his heel. “Inhaling chemicals isn’t really better for you whether its vapor or smoke.” 

“Noted,” the DJ replies. Tilting his head back, he releases the vapor as a series of rings rather than a consistent stream. 

Ten’s eyes are automatically drawn in to his lips, plush and glistening against the evening street lighting. A flush of heat rising on his face makes Ten realize he’s staring, and he immediately spins away. 

Huffing a breath, Ten resigns himself to pointedly ignoring the DJ, which seems like a reasonable enough idea, except that it’s definitely easier said than done. Every hit of his douche flute, every casual “bro” greeting, the way Ten can hear the rapid pulses of an electronic drum beat booming from his headphones has the corner of his eye ticking. 

A group of girls lean away from Ten with expressions of disgust only to giggle and bat their eyelashes when approached by tall EDM bro, and by then, Ten has had enough. 

“There are other corners on this street, you know,” he says through gritted teeth, doing his best to hold in his bite. 

The DJ shrugs with all the ease of Ten’s attitude rolling right over him. “This one has the most traffic.” The corner of his lips twitch upward. “That’s why you’re here, right?” 

“Yes,” Ten answers. “I was here first, mind you.” 

The DJ holds his hand to his chest like the weight of Ten’s words finally hit him. “Ooh, that’s not very friendly.” His head turns one way and then the next before settling on Ten again. “I don’t see your name on it though. It’s more than big enough for the two of us, I’d say.” 

Ten’s fist clutches his stack of flyers a little tighter, and he bites his tongue to contain the obscenities that want to roll off it. 

\-----

Ten likes the theory of organization. 

He starts with great intentions, planning out his days and weeks in a neat little organized calendar, creating lists arranged by category with sub-categories and bullet points. 

Ultimately though, the chaos of his life becomes too much, and all that effort of seemingly having it all together is swallowed up in the whirlwind of actuality. The ever growing pile of responsibilities and necessities accumulate at a faster rate than he can check them off. 

But he still tries, forcing himself to sit down every once in awhile in an attempt to get a reign in the discord, remapping out his days and hours, school, studying, work, booking shows, doing his damndest to bring in an audience to said shows, keep up with whatever social obligations he’s committed to. 

It helps that his place of work also hosts his performances whenever he can convince his manager, Kun, to give him a slot, but ultimately that mild convenience isn’t enough to ease the uneven weight piled all over his plate. 

As long as he makes the attempt every once in awhile to get his shit together, Ten reasons he’s doing alright. Keeping himself going amongst the constant whirl of chaos is all part of the lifestyle of an aspiring artist anyway. 

Part of that semblance of a routine includes passing out flyers. Getting decent slots at Luna’s all depends on the audience Ten can bring in. Friday and Saturday nights are the best for all the obvious reasons, but Kun only gives them out by seniority and one’s ability to bring in customers during the slower weekdays. 

That’s why regardless of how unforgiving his schedule is, Ten squeezes in time for these flyer outings. 

The process itself is the easy part. Convincing college students that precious study nights are worth putting off for live interpretative dance performances is its own beast. 

Especially when the other options for their nightly distractions includes cheap booze, party tricks, and loud screechy music. 

If one really calls that music. 

\-----

“I’m Johnny.” 

Ten smiles at the next passing college student, never wavering even as his extended arm clutching a flyer goes by completely unacknowledged. 

“Do you have a name?” tall EDM bro—Johnny—asks. 

“Nope,” Ten says without batting a lash. 

“You don’t have a name?” 

Ten doesn’t answer, keeping his back to him. 

“You know what your problem is?” 

Ten rolls his eyes, not giving the dignity of facing him as he answers, “So many things. Not that you would know the half of it.” 

“People can read you,” Johnny says. “That air of superiority you keep around you is built up so thick you repel everyone away before you even try to sell yourself.” 

That does have Ten spinning around, his brow creased as intently as the stomp of his boots to the pavement. “Some of us work really hard for our art,” he declares. “Some of us are actually trying to create something instead of treating life like some big frat party.” 

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about.” Johnny presses the glass of his vape mod to his lips before sharply drawing in another sweet cloud—melon, Ten thinks it is. Not that he’s trying to tell. “You just assume the worst about people. No one’s going to want to buy something from someone that thinks they’re better than them.” 

“I’m not _selling_ anything,” Ten continues. “Art is an expression, not a commodity.” 

“Calm down, Tiny Dancer,” Johnny laughs. “I’m just trying to help you out.” 

“What did you call me?” Ten snaps, stepping up to Johnny. 

Ten has to crane his head back to meet his eye this close, but that hardly deters him. He looks the taller boy right in the eye as though daring him to repeat what he just said. 

Johnny just grins, lips quirked in such a way that it would almost appear flirty, if Ten didn’t know better. 

The urge to scream is strong. 

“Ten!” 

Ten turns to see his roommate, Hendery, pulled up in his car by the curb with his window rolled down. “Come on. We told Yangyang we’d be there by eight. We’re already late. Let’s go!” 

“Right,” Ten sighs, and without sparing Johnny a second glance, he makes his way over to the car, looking both ways before stepping into the street to let himself in on the passenger side. 

As he settles in, he hears an annoyingly familiar voice from his side. 

“Have a good night, Ten!” 

He lifts his head to see Johnny next to Hendery’s window, bent over with his hands on his knees so that he can look into the car, smiling right at him. 

“Same time tomorrow night?” he asks. 

Hendery looks from Johnny to Ten and back, wide eyes filled with confusion. Ten smacks his roommate’s arm. “Just go.” 

“Who was that?” Hendery asks once they’ve put a block in between them. 

“A pest,” Ten huffs. 

\-----

Dry roses rustle gently against each other as Ten arranges them in the vase, careful not to let the petals crumble. He moves back, stepping down from the elevated floor that serves as a stage in the very back corner of the café. 

Luna’s is like his home away from home. When he’s not at school or he and Hendery’s small apartment, he finds himself here, be it for working, studying, or as is today’s case, performing. He makes ends meet as a barista at the local, indie coffee shop in true starving artist college student fashion. 

Or he’s trying to, anyway. 

Ten touches a curled finger against his chin, lips pursed as he considers his setup through circular-framed glasses. 

He’s so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn’t hear Lucas’s _psst_ to catch his attention. It’s not until he feels the gentle bump against his back that Ten blinks, turning around to see one of his currently off-duty coworkers holding out an empty coffee cup for him. 

“Refill this with a Chai Latte,” Lucas says to him. 

“Do you see me wearing an apron right now?” Ten tuts, lightly pushing Lucas’s hand away. “Get it yourself, lazy.” 

Lucas’s mouth opens to say something, but Kun cuts him off as he strides by, snatching the cup out of his grasp. “You’ll have to pay for it, Lucas. No free refills.” 

“Seriously?” Lucas protests, throwing his arms in the air. “I work here!” 

“You’re not on shift,” Kun points out matter-of-factly. “Besides, you get a generous employee discount already.” 

Lucas grumbles, and Ten shakes his head with a snort. 

His eyes automatically follow Kun, who moves behind the counter. Kun’s hand hovers over the waste bin, but he pauses, sighing and walking over to the cappuccino machine to set the cup under it instead. 

Kun likes to act like he runs a tight ship, but he’s a softie at heart. It’s obvious in the way he’s seemed to have adopted all the artsy, queer kids on campus. 

It helps that he is one himself. 

In fact, if it were up to Kun, Ten and the others could perform whenever and as often as they wanted. Alas, Kun is the manager, not the owner, which means that if they don’t bring in customers, it’s Kun that takes the heat. 

The café is currently mostly empty, save for the table nearest Ten. Along with Lucas sits his roommate Hendery as well as their friends Yangyang and Dejun. Yangyang and Dejun have their chairs nestled together, their thighs touching, whereas Hendery is immersed in the virtual world with his phone an inch from his face. 

A few more patrons are scattered about the tables, but the place doesn’t really pick up until after sundown, when caffeinated beverages are traded for alcoholic ones. 

Ten turns back toward the stage, taking in the full view of it. His brow creases. He puts a good deal of care into all of his performances, no matter how seemingly small. Something about this setup isn’t quite matching what he had envisioned, but he can’t exactly pin point what. 

Deciding that it has something to do with the way the curtains are draped against the back wall, Ten steps back onto the stage, taking the silk fabric into his grasp and trying to pull them free from the hooks near the ceiling. As the fabric resists, he realizes he can’t quite reach high enough to get them down without risking tearing the material. 

“Lucas!” Ten calls out, looking back at the table. “Help me get these down.” 

“Why should I?” Lucas says, leaning back in his chair and propping a foot against the edge of the table, which has the lanky limb sharply bent. “You wouldn’t even get me a latte.” 

“Are you serious?” Ten huffs, and Lucas just shrugs, pulling out his phone. 

He knows that Lucas will help him if he can figure out what hoop it is he wants him to jump through first, but Ten doesn’t have the patience to figure it out. His gaze shifts over to his roommate instead. “Hey, Hendery.” 

Hendery may be here physically, but his mind is clearly somewhere far off. Ten hasn’t missed the way Hendery’s bright smile has lit up more than its usual award-winning display, nor the way his cheeks are tinged pink. 

“Hendery,” Ten repeats, and when his voice falls on deaf ears, he clears his throat. “Hendery!” 

His roommate looks up, blinking, features shifting into something more sheepish. 

“Come help me, please?” Ten asks. “And bring your chair.” 

Nodding, Hendery does as asked, pocketing his phone and picking up his chair as he heads up onto the stage next to Ten. 

Ten steps out onto it, holding out the fabric for his roommate to take before reaching up by the hooks to untangle the thicker folds. “So,” he starts, trying and failing to contain the amusement twitching on his lips. “What’s his name?” 

Hendery has the grace to look bashful at the exposure while he gathers the fabric, but he doesn’t bother playing coy. “Feng!” 

“You mean that guy from our art psych class?” Yangyang asks, looking up at Hendery suddenly. “He seems kind of arrogant, don’t you think?” 

Hendery frowns as he looks back at Yangyang. “He has every right to be arrogant,” he retorts. His face lights back up into a dreamy expression as he looks at Ten. “He’s so hot.” 

Dejun chimes in. “Is that the same guy you were whining about not replying to your text the other day?” 

Hendery winces, glancing away nervously as he nibbles at his lower lip. “Well, he’s talking to me now.” 

The legs of Lucas’s chair hits the ground again as he lowers his foot from the table. “Yeah? And how long did you make him wait before you replied to his text?” 

The color on Hendery’s cheeks deepens. “I didn’t…” His attention falls to the fabric in his arms, gathering it all up while Ten steps down and moves the chair. 

Ten arches an eyebrow and sighs. “Hendery…” 

His roommate looks up at him almost pleadingly. “He was probably busy, okay?” 

Setting the chair back down, Ten lifts back up onto it, holding his arms out for the fabric. “You’re so good-hearted, Hendery. You really don’t deserve to be treated with any less than what you give.” He tries not to sound too chastising, but it’s hard. It really frustrates him sometimes how tolerant his incredibly sweet roommate could be with these inconsiderate assholes that definitely don’t deserve even a moment of his attention. 

“He’s good, Ten! I promise!” Hendery smiles up at him, holding up the curtains. 

“He better be.” Ten tries to look stern, but Hendery’s grin is so bright that he ends up smiling despite himself. 

The bell attached to the front entrance jingles, and Ten looks over to see a large group of people file inside. Their faces look vaguely familiar, and Ten’s fairly certain he had handed them flyers last weekend. His eyes light up and he grins to himself before turning his attention back to the curtains in his hands. 

\-----

The end of the first semester has the autumn days feeling more like the impending winter that’s still several weeks off. This does admittedly slow the social traffic of Main Street than when it was closer to summer, but if there is the promise of cheap drinks and trendy music, a decent amount of college kids will still trek into the colder temperatures for their weekendly escape from the reality of growing assignment lists and due dates. 

This evening is particularly cold, so cold that Ten is surprised that the thin sprinkles of rain isn’t snow or sleet. It certainly feels like bits of ice as it hits his reddened cheeks. His breath is just visible, rising from every exhale in this streams. 

The passerby are few and far between, always huddled together tightly and moving even swifter than usual on account of wanting to get inside somewhere with a heater. Some small part of Ten wants to chastise himself, wants to tell him what a pointless endeavor it was to come out this night of all nights, but Ten managed to get himself a Thursday night slot, which is just short of the weekend, yes, but is closer to it than he’s ever managed to be before. 

So here he is, an ungloved hand hidden in his jacket (because leafing through paper with thick layers of cotton covering his fingers is unnecessarily tedious), his stack of flyers protected from the icy elements against his chest. It’s still about as thick as it was before he set out this evening. 

Ten sniffles, his runny nose a contrast of numb and sharply bitten by cold. The closed doors keep the streets almost eerily quiet, the muffled hum of the life contained behind them faint and almost white noise like. 

The only silver lining is that for the first time since Ten can remember, Johnny isn’t out here. He supposes battling the elements doesn’t fit in with his laidback, EDM bro lifestyle. 

Ten hears a crescendo of voices coming from around a corner. He spins their direction, only to realize the group is on the other side of the street with no intention of heading Ten’s way. 

Although usually content to stay on his side, it’s been several minutes since the last group of people ventured down this way, and even longer between them and the group before that. 

There’s no cars coming, so Ten rushes across the street, his ungloved hand shooting out, clutching one of the flyers he kept dry inside his jacket. 

As he steps onto the next sidewalk though, his mouth opening to catch the group’s attention, his grip on the rest of his stack falters. Flyers slip from his grasp, dropping from his jacket and scattering all over the concrete around his feet. 

The group stops, blinking back Ten’s direction as a curse hisses from his lips. Rather than trying to obtain their attention, panic grips Ten as the wetness from the sidewalks seeps into the papers and seals them to the ground. The evening’s gentle breeze strews the rest around into even more of a mess. 

Ten drops to his knees, scrambling to gather his flyers. Behind him, he can hear the group murmur, continuing about their business, and a second wave of panic has Ten realizing he’s lost their attention before he ever fully gathered it. 

“Wait!” he shouts, reaching back for them, but they just regard him with uncomfortable glances before walking a little faster. 

Ten sighs, accepting the loss as he goes back to trying to gather his papers. Between the saturation of rain and his haste as he claws for them, many of the flyers simply shred under his nails. 

Closing his eyes, Ten groans. Yes, he realizes tonight was really a terrible night to come out here, but with his life succumbing to chaos at an increasing rate, it was really the only night he could fit in. To think that what precious time he could find is now going to waste has the knots twisting in Ten’s stomach. 

Heaving a breath, Ten tries to pull himself together, crawling to peel off the dryer sheets and shake the excess moisture from them. He starts to build up a stack in his arm when a harsher gust of wind sends them all flying. 

Ten impulsively launches onto his feet, stumbling after them in an attempt to catch them before they hit the ground again, not paying attention to the fact that his legs have carried him right into the street. Not until he’s blinded by headlights hurling around the corner. 

It all happens so fast. Ten freezes up like a deer, and that split second that he has to register the situation, he thinks, for sure, he is going to be hit by this car, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. 

He’s half right. Something hits him, but it’s not the car. Something large collides right into him, wrapping tight around his smaller frame, and next thing Ten knows, he’s being heaved onto the sidewalk on the other side of the street. 

His head is spinning as the other body lets go of him. Finding his footing, Ten turns to see Johnny running into the street after the speeding car. “How about you slow the fuck down!” he shouts after it, both middle fingers thrown up high. “Fucking assholes!” 

As he turns to step back up onto the sidewalk, Ten almost wants to shrink at the way Johnny’s face is contorted with anger. As their eyes meet though, Johnny’s features smooth out, and the hand that comes to a rest on Ten’s shoulder does so gently. 

“Jesus,” Johnny breathes between pants. “Are you okay?” 

Ten nods, wisps of steam issuing from his lips, shoulders heaving as he catches his breath. His eyes are wide, heart hammering in his chest as his mind belatedly processes what just happened. 

Or rather, what would’ve happened if Johnny had arrived even a second later. 

Johnny’s hand then curls firmly on his shoulders, features hardening. “Are you stupid?” he hisses, snapping Ten back to reality. 

The carefree swagger of Johnny’s tone is gone, replaced by an urgency and seriousness so unlike what glimpses Ten have seen of him that they rattle him that much more than the words themselves. 

“You don’t just go jumping into the street like that!” Johnny continues. “Especially not here. College kids can push their safety campaigns all day, but that doesn’t mean those drunk assholes ever follow that shit.” 

Johnny’s chastising tone has Ten jerking out of his grasp, brow crunched and mouth open as though ready to give him a piece of his mind for daring to talk down to him, but as he meets Johnny’s serious and intent gaze, his words fall short. 

Instead, his brow smoothes out, eyes drifting out to the street to see the mess of flyers all over the road and sidewalk, shredded and plastered to the ground, stained by dirt and tire tracks. 

“They’re just papers,” Johnny says as though he can read Ten’s thoughts, his tone considerably softer. “You can always print out more. They’re easily replaced.” 

Ten remains silent a few more moments as his eyes rove over the mess. When he does finally speak, all he can manage is a hushed, “_Fuck,_” while his ungloved hand reaches up to curl around a tuft of hair. 

“Hey.” Johnny’s hands slip into his pockets. “It’s cold and it sucks out here.” He glances down at the tips of his boots as he speaks, kicking at nothing on the ground. Lifting his head, he grins at Ten. “Let’s go warm up inside. Take a moment to calm down and regroup, yeah? I’ll buy you coffee.” 

Ten cocks a brow, regarding Johnny as though he had just sprouted a third head. However, now that the adrenaline in his veins is starting to subside, Ten feels too mentally drained to come up with an excuse to decline, so he simply nods. 

Ten sits across from Johnny inside a corporate chain café. They sit in the corner, the murmur of other patrons humming like background ambience. His hands curl around the cup of coffee Johnny bought him, warmth seeping pleasantly into his previously icy extremities. 

Now that he’s sitting down and in a calm enough place to sit back and look back at the situation, it really starts to register that a car almost plowed into him. They didn’t brake, they didn’t even honk, just rushed around the corner like Ten hadn’t even been there. 

He wonders if they had hit him, if they would’ve even stopped. 

Ten is aware of how small he is in the grand scheme of this great, vast universe, but it’s moments like this where his comprehension of such a sentiment truly sinks in. 

Across from him, Johnny sits back in his seat, seemingly without a care in the world. He swirls his own coffee in one hand while the other pulls out his vape mod from his jacket. 

“Do you have to do that in here?” Ten grumbles, resting the lid of his coffee against the pillow of his lower lip. 

Johnny lowers the mod before it reaches his mouth. “You sure have a funny way of expressing gratitude, Ten.” 

Ten frowns, irked how Johnny speaks his name so familiarly, but maybe deep down, he realizes that Johnny has a point, so he refrains from making any snarky remarks. 

Still… Ten is surprised to see Johnny slip the mod away without actually hitting it. 

To say the air hanging between them is awkward would be an understatement. Every moment of silence that passes makes it grow thicker, and Ten finds himself wanting to fill it with anything other than the more obvious subject. “I didn’t think you were coming tonight.” 

“I actually wasn’t planning on handing out flyers until much later,” Johnny shrugs. “Nights like this, it’s better to catch the crowds while they’re leaving rather than coming.” 

“So then why were you here?” Ten asks. “Are you that set out on annoying me?” 

“As egocentric as ever,” Johnny breathes with a laugh. “No, Tiny Dancer, my business down here has nothing to do with you. But I have to admit it’s pretty cute watching you get all worked up about nothing,” he adds with a wink. 

Ten scoffs. “Rude.” 

“_I’m_ rude?” Johnny chokes on a chuckle, sitting up a little taller. 

“Yes, you’re rude.” Ten’s brow creases, eyes meeting Johnny’s. “You strut about all cocky with your loud music and _’bros’_ and vape clouds in people’s faces without any consideration outside of the party bubble you’ve created around yourself.” 

A frown flickers on Johnny’s face. For once, he doesn’t let what Ten has to say roll off of him. He actually looks miffed, and somehow… Ten doesn’t quite find it as satisfying as he once thought he might. 

“What about you?” Johnny gestures toward Ten. “I’m just minding my own business, but you can’t just mind yours. You think that just because my passions don’t fit into your little artsy fartsy ideal of _’real creativity’_”—he air quotes—“that what I’m doing is lazy or less valid than what you’re doing.” 

Ten just sips his coffee, decidedly not dignifying that with a response. He sneers down at the cup, mentally noting that Luna’s blends are much more refined than this corporate concoction. 

“So…” Johnny says, leaning in and folding his arms against each other’s along the edge of the table. “What kind of music _do_ you like?” 

“Nothing you’ve heard of,” Ten mumbles into the lip of the cup. 

“Try me,” Johnny says. “Radiohead? Modest Mouse? The Strokes?” 

“I’m not a hipster,” Ten says. He does like those bands, actually, but Johnny doesn’t need to know that. Setting down his cup, Ten’s eyes drift out to the rest of the café, looking at nothing in particular. “I like a lot of different styles. Mostly, I like to support local artists.” 

“So do I!” Johnny exclaims, flattening his palms against the table top like he’s had a breakthrough. “Look at that, Ten, we have more in common than you think.” 

Again with his name. Ten frowns. “Hardly.” 

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Johnny sighs, posture slumping as he pinches the stirrer in his cup and bobs it up and down in the brown liquid. “I’m definitely not as closed-minded as you.” 

Ten’s attention snaps back to Johnny. “I’m not closed-minded.” 

“Yeah?” Johnny looks up with that annoyingly confident grin. “Why don’t you come down to one of my shows? It might be different than what you think.” 

Ten sips from his cup disinterestedly. “I’ll just take your word for it.” 

“What? Afraid you might like it?” Johnny asks, and that cockiness that gets under Ten’s skin returns when he smirks. 

“Not even a little,” Ten deadpans. 

“You might be surprised,” Johnny continues, leaning in a little more. “Dance is a large part of the scene. How can you be so sure it won’t move you, if you don’t give it a chance?” 

“What you people call dancing is a lot different than what I do,” Ten says. 

“Is it though?” Johnny asks. “It’s all about letting your emotions move you, right?” 

Ten frowns. “You’re mocking me.” 

“Not at all.” Johnny shakes his head. “Even before I started producing, I used to dance. I don’t as much these days, but I remember what it feels like.” 

Ten lifts an eyebrow. He’s tempted to laugh, except that it belatedly registers with him that they’ve been speaking about dancing when Ten never once told him what the flyers he passed out were actually for. 

Slowly, he sets his cup back down, a faint line appearing between his brows. “… how do you know that I dance?” 

“I can read,” Johnny says dryly. Then he shrugs, looking back down at his coffee like it’s vastly more interesting. “With as intent as you were about getting your flyers out, I thought I should check you out.” He smiles when he looks back up at Ten again, and it’s not that teasing, cocky smile that Ten is used to. It’s warmer, it’s genuine. 

Ten blinks, instinctively searching Johnny’s face for signs of deceit. 

“Wouldn’t have pegged you as a Hozier fan,” Johnny says casually, resting his cheek against his palm and returning to stirring his coffee. “I mean, he seems your style, but I figured he would’ve been too mainstream for you.” 

Any doubt Ten may have had is quickly erased. “I didn’t know you were there,” he says, his tone notably softer. “Why didn’t you come say something?” 

Johnny snorts. “Given our current track record, I didn’t think my presence would be appreciated.” 

Ten presses his lips together. As much as his instincts would’ve had him dismiss Johnny, he can’t deny that the fact that he had actually come out to one of his shows stirred something in him. 

Luna’s is small and intimate enough that Ten can usually see everyone who comes, but that night had been unusually—and happily—crowded. 

“I like Hozier,” Johnny continues, eyes flitting back up to Ten and the warmth returning to his smile. “I always thought that was a beautiful song. A little pretentious, yeah, but rightfully so. And you. Wow.” A laugh slips from Johnny’s lips, and he sits back in his chair. “It’s like you were able to take this abstract idea and bring it into reality. Everything I ever felt listening to that song, I could see when you moved. You weren’t just dancing to it, you brought it to life.” 

A warmth blossoms on Ten’s face that has him lifting his coffee cup in an attempt to nonchalantly hide it. He’s heard his fair share of high praises, including those ones that are delivered with the sort of hyper bravado that make their lack of authenticity really obvious. 

This isn’t like that though. Something about Johnny’s compliments resonates so strongly with what Ten’s always trying to portray yet can’t ever quite articulate, there’s no room for him to doubt the sincerity of his words. 

He can’t quite remember the last time someone’s feedback made him feel like this. 

He’s not sure if anyone’s ever has. 

“You’re amazing,” Johnny adds. “You really love what you do, and you can see that. Makes sense why the place was so packed.” 

The smile on Johnny’s face lingers a few moments longer, but then it fades, and Johnny sighs, starring off as his words take a more wistful tone. “It’s too bad you won’t give my music a chance. If we were to collab with our respective talents, we really could create something beautiful.” 

Ten presses his lips together. He should say something, he knows he should, but the humility swelling in his chest is so raw and potent that he doesn’t know how to process it, not out in public and especially not right in front of Johnny. He knew exactly where he stood with him at the beginning of the night, but after everything… now he can’t be so sure. 

“I should get back to my apartment,” is what Ten ends up saying as he scoots his chair back from the table. “I have a lot of work I’ve been putting off.” 

Johnny blinks, but his expression is nonplussed, almost unreadable. “Yeah, okay.” 

“Thank you for the coffee,” Ten says, straightening his jacket as he stands back up before pushing in his chair. 

He starts for the exit, leaving the table behind him, but after a few steps, he slows to a pause, looking over his shoulder to see Johnny still sitting at the table. “And… thank you for everything else as well.” 

Johnny’s brow arches with mild surprise, but then he just smiles. “Have a good night, Ten. I’ll see you around?” 

Ten frowns on impulse, wanting to dismiss Johnny with another short remark out of habit, but as he looks at the aspiring DJ with his puppy dog grin and round cheeks, there’s something about him that has Ten thinking that maybe, perhaps, he is being a little too hard on him. 

He nods, a hint of a grin flickering on his lips before he ducks his head, hastily retreating from the café and from Johnny’s sweet smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think so far! ♥
> 
> Find me on twitter at [ninissymbiote](http://twitter.com/ninissymbiote/)  
And on tumblr at [feyjungwoo](http://feyjungwoo.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... This chapter really got away from me. I thought about cutting it in half but decided just to run with it, in the end. \o/
> 
> A couple things, thank you so much to everyone who commented! They mean so much to me and definitely encourage me to continue on! Also, a huge shout out to @Byunbae, my ultimate hype, whose kitchen is like this strange gateway for summoning ideas, LMAO. Ily! ♥
> 
> Also, I made a couple changes to the tags to more accurately reflect the story because I'd rather over warn than under warn, but I really don't expect to make anymore changes to them.
> 
> Anyway~ Without further ado...

Ten’s brow creases behind the thin metal frames of his circular glasses as he peers at his laptop screen. Despite the stress of impending due dates twisting in his abdomen, the word document he has open has little to show for it—at least by Ten’s standards.

It’s another evening at Luna’s. This time, he’s neither performing nor on shift. To his side, he has Hendery with his own laptop open, while Dejun is sprawled out in a large chair by their table, both legs strewn over the arm while he plucks out gentle notes on his acoustic guitar. Yangyang sits in the chair next to him with his legs crossed, taking the analog approach to his studies, open books strewn out around him while he scribbles on a notepad on his knee. 

Across from Ten sits Lucas, the back of his chair facing the table while he straddles it. Lucas is wearing an apron, but with the way he’s hugging the back of the chair and divulging all the intimate details that no one asked for of his latest conquest, one would hardly guess that he’s on the clock. 

Kun definitely knows that he is though. He walks past Lucas, cracking his rag at him and catching the back of his neck with the corner. 

Lucas yelps in surprise, sitting up straight and rubbing the back of his neck and twisting to look back at Kun with a pout.

“If you don’t get back to work,” Kun says, leaning over the next table to take the abandoned mugs and wipe the marks they left, “I’m taking that apron off you and putting it on Ten.” 

“Leave me out of this,” Ten cuts in, eyes never straying from his laptop screen. “Kick Lucas off the clock all you want, but I really need to get this done.” 

Lucas puffs out his lower lip as he side-glances Kun’s direction. Standing up from the table, he rests his foot against the edge of the chair and plucks the rag from his hip to wipe the clean spot on the table right in front of him. 

“Come on, Ten,” he says, grinning at him. “Take this shift, and I’ll trade you.” 

“I’m sure you would,” Ten says flatly. “Why don’t you actually get to work? Riveting as the tale of your latest handjob is, I really do need to finish this assignment.” 

“Don’t be jealous~” Lucas coos. 

Ten rolls his eyes, the strokes of his fingers over his keyboard never missing a beat. “Not the word I would use.” 

“Sure about that?” Lucas’s motions stop as he leans into his curled fists against the table top. “You’re so wound up lately, you obviously haven’t gotten laid in awhile.” 

Ten spares Lucas only a skeptical glance before devoting his full attention back to his assignment. He’s used to this from him by now. 

It’s when he hears Yangyang’s casual, “He’s got a point,” that Ten feels the true twitch of annoyance. 

Ten rubs his forehead with the corner of his palm as his eyes narrow at the laptop screen. “Yeah, well, I don’t currently have any contenders to help with that, so you’ll just have to put up with me.” 

Dejun glances up from his guitar. “Chapstick Theater Boy seems pretty into you.” 

“Chapstick Theater Boy has about as much sex appeal as a goat in heat,” Ten sighs, typing away with all the precision of mastering idle conversation while working on assignments. “That’s why he’s called Chapstick Theater Boy.” 

“What about Donghyun? Dongho?” Dejun asks. “Whatever his name was.” 

“Ugh!” Ten actually stops typing as he throws his head back, features twisting into an unrestrained grimace. “He was like one of those little dogs that always humps people’s legs. Please… never mention him again.” 

“There’s always Hot DJ,” Hendery singsongs before covering his hand with his mouth so he can snicker into it. 

“Shut up,” Ten snorts, reaching over to playfully push Hendery’s shoulder. 

His fingers fit along the keyboard as he resumes his attention on his assignment, assuming the subject has been dropped, but Yangyang’s voice immediately shatters that momentary illusion of security. 

“Wait!” Ten looks over to see Yangyang’s eyes darting from Ten to Hendery and back, the notebook on his knee forgotten. “Who’s Hot DJ?” 

Ten looks over at Hendery with a glint of accusation, who looks caught between sheepish and pleased with himself. Heaving another sigh, Ten shakes his head and pointedly returns to his work. “No one. Just drop it.” 

“Bullshit.” Lucas’s eyes light up as he sits back down in the chair, rag abandoned. Folding his arms over the back of the chair, he rests his chin on top of them. “Come on. Spill.” 

Ten’s eyebrows raise as he shakes his head. “There’s nothing to spill.” 

“There’s a hot DJ that passes out flyers on the same corner as Ten!” Hendery blurts out. 

Ten sighs, withdrawing his hands from the keyboard and letting them rest along the edge of the table as he turns his glare toward Hendery. “Why would you say that? Now they’re all going to think it’s something it’s not, no matter what I say.” 

“What is it, then?” Dejun asks, fingers pausing and hovering over the guitar strings. 

“It’s seriously nothing,” Ten insists. “Johnny’s just another one of your typical EDM bros, who happens to want to pass out flyers in my spot. He’s practically a stranger.” 

Kun tsks as he walks by. 

“Johnny?” Hendery quips, eyes lighting up. “You didn’t tell me you found out his name!” 

Ten presses his lips together, immediately realizing his mistake. 

It’s been awhile since he’s been with anyone, even casually, so it’s not surprising that the prospect of a contender is of such interest to everyone else. 

Except Johnny’s not one. Definitely not. No way, no how. 

Yangyang rests his elbow on his knee and his cheek on his curled fist, smiling up at Ten sweetly. “What’s Johnny like?” 

Ten shakes his head. “You know, on second thought, I think it might be more productive for me to try to work on this back at the apartment.” 

“Aw, come on,” Lucas whines, lifting his head from his arms. “It’s our job to pry. Especially when our little Tennie hasn’t gotten any in—fuck…” He pauses, staring off with a quizzical look. “Just how long has it been?” 

“Long enough for you to start interrogating me about any male in my general vicinity, apparently,” Ten mutters, positioning the base of his palms once again along the edge of his keyboard. 

“Really?” Hendery asks with a tilt of his head. “You’re not even a little interested?” 

“He’s not my type,” Ten says casually. 

“Tall and hot isn’t your type?” Hendery asks. Yangyang and Dejun snicker. 

“If you think he’s so hot, you go talk to him,” Ten scolds, eyes narrowed at Hendery. “Besides,” he sniffs, turning his attention back to the laptop screen. “If that was my only criteria, Lucas and I would’ve long hooked up by now.” 

Lucas cracks out one of his quick, high-pitched laughs. Leaning back in his seat, he places his hands behind his head and smirks. “We haven’t hooked up because you know you would catch feelings too easily, Tennie.” 

Ten looks up at Lucas with his middle finger extended. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

Lucas simply shrugs. “All I’m saying is my list of contenders is still abundant.” 

Ten’s brow raises mildly as he swipes his finger over the touch pad to scroll through his word document. “Well, Lucas, some of us have more standards than just ‘walks and breathes’.” 

“Ten!” Hendery clucks his tongue and lightly slaps Ten’s shoulder. “Be nice.” 

“What?” Ten spares him a quick glance. “It’s true. He’s shameless.” 

“It’s fine, Hendery,” Lucas says, seemingly unphased. “Ten’s just jealous. We should feel sorry for him.” 

Ten’s eyes narrow over his laptop. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” 

“_Anyway_,” Yangyang interjects pointedly. “No one’s saying you gotta fall in love with the guy. Just hookup with him once and be on your way.” 

“You guys are overlooking one key factor.” Ten shakes his head, fingertips finding their position along his keyboard once again as he leans closer to his laptop screen. “Everything about him screams heterosexual.” 

That earns him a collective, sympathetic sigh. 

Silence falls over them, save for the clicking of keyboard strokes and the scribble of pen over paper. Lucas stands back up, grabbing his rag and heading over to a table that patrons just left. 

The silence continues for a few more moments, but Ten can’t concentrate. It’s like the quiet that’s fallen over them is even louder than the stream of their conversation moments before, distracting him more than their interrogation as the truth of his last meeting with Johnny replays over and over in his mind. 

Ten sighs, ceasing his typing as he plants his elbows against the tabletop and buries his face into his hands. “I let him buy me coffee the other night.” 

“What?” Hendery says first, and once again, all pretense of homework or work are abandoned as the attention turns toward Ten. Kun maintains his distance, though he keeps glancing their direction. 

“It was cold, and I was already on edge, and I dropped all my flyers,” Ten explains. “Johnny happened to come by then and offered to buy me coffee, so I let him.” 

He’s aware he’s leaving out a critical detail, but they don’t need to know that. 

“Awww,” Hendery sighs. 

Yangyang leans forward a bit. “Then what happened?” 

Ten goes on to explain the conversation they had, from how Johnny had come down here to see him perform to the offhanded remark about them collaborating. A dry laugh slips from his lips, and he shakes his head, as though not quite believing that particular conversation had happened. 

Kun scoffs in the distance. 

“What’s his music like?” Hendery asks. 

“I have no idea,” Ten answers. “It’s EDM. It all sounds the same.” 

“That’s not true,” Yangyang interjects. “That would be like saying all classical piano pieces sound the same.” 

“He probably didn’t mean literally,” Lucas sees fit to add. “He probably meant you two should collaborate in bed and make some beautiful music together.” To emphasize his point, Lucas pulls his elbows back with his hands curled into fists while his hips thrust forward. 

Ten stares at Lucas skeptically, but then he shakes his head, a laugh slipping from him despite his more refined senses. 

“Well?” Hendery asks. “What’d you say?” 

Ten nips at his lower lip. “Nothing,” he admits. “I left.” 

He can practically feel the disappointed looks as he zeroes his attention in on his laptop screen. 

“You got his number, right?” Lucas asks. 

Ten shakes his head, refusing to call that feeling the question stirs regret. 

Lucas smacks the table. “What the hell?” 

Kun hisses at Lucas to get back to work. 

“Well, you know what that means?” Dejun says. “You gotta go to one of his shows now.” 

“No, he doesn’t,” Kun snips as he walks by. “It was his own choice to get him coffee. Ten doesn’t owe him anything.” 

“Okay, _mom_,” Dejun drawls, stretching his leg in a lazy attempt to catch Kun’s knee when he passes. “I didn’t mean literally.” 

“Come on, Ten,” Hendery reaches over to nudge Ten’s shoulder. “You should go to one. It might be fun!” 

Ten rolls his eyes. “Spending an evening in a smelly club with hippies and scenesters while dubstep is cranked up is hardly my idea of a good time.” 

He hears Kun murmur his agreement with the sentiment. 

“At least you can say you went,” Lucas sees fit to add. “Everyone’s gotta have at least one shitty scene experience under their belt, yeah?” 

Ten chuckles, shaking his head. “Maybe.” 

“Besides,” Yangyang adds, smiling devilishly. “It’s the after show you’re really going for.” 

“I told you guys,” Ten sighs, rubbing his forehead and glaring at the screen. “He’s straight.” 

“Are you sure?” Hendery asks, ignoring his own laptop in favor of looking at Ten. 

“I’m almost positive,” Ten says. “You should see the way girls look at him.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Lucas snorts. “Girls hit on me _alllll_ the time.” 

Ten cocks a brow, but he keeps any smart remarks—tempting as they may be—contained. As conceited as Lucas might be, he knows he’s speaking the truth and might actually have a point. 

It’s then that his line of thinking catches up with him, and Ten’s face scrunches. “Wait.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not happening!” 

“Okay,” Hendery says simply, returning his attention to his laptop. 

Ten glances around to see that everyone has returned to their own activities, which he supposes he should take as a victory, but the restrained grins on their faces hardly make it feel like one. 

\-----

It’s another cold evening the next time Ten sees Johnny, but he shows up with an extra hot chocolate for Ten, which he eyes skeptically before accepting. 

It turns into something of a routine, Johnny always having some hot beverage waiting for Ten whenever they run into each other. He doesn’t ever seem to offer the drinks with any expectation. He doesn’t even bring up that night again. 

Ten just has too much on his plate to even try to overanalyze it. He decidedly just accepts the friendly gesture as a token of peace offering for sharing this space with him. Given that he knows by now that declining the coffee likely wouldn’t result in Johnny leaving this spot, he figures he might as well make the best of the circumstances he’s been dealt. 

“It’s a good thing I actually happen to be here when you get these,” Ten says one night, taking a sip from his steaming paper cup. “What would you do if you showed up with two drinks, and I happened not to come out that night?” 

Johnny just shrugs. “Then I’d have two drinks!” he says casually before hitting from his vape mod. 

Everything just rolls off his shoulders. 

Ten presses the lid of the drink into his lips to hide his grin, not quite ready to give Johnny the satisfaction of knowing he put it there. 

Later that evening, when Johnny is thoroughly distracted talking with a passing by college student, Ten crouches down to pick up one of the dropped neon flyers from the ground and tucks it away into the inside pocket of his jacket. 

\-----

It’s one of the first snowfalls of the season the night Ten heads to the Blue Room. He has Yangyang and Hendery in tow, dressed in a satin button-up, circular spectacles foregone in favor of smoke around his eyes and gloss on his lips, because if he’s going to take the time to come out here, he might as well try to look the part. 

Not that the few patrons currently present apparently cared to dress themselves nicely. 

“I can’t believe we had to pay for a coat check,” Yangyang huffs. “This place is like a dive bar with a glorified sound system.” 

“You’re the one who wanted to come with so bad,” Ten reminds him. 

The trio wanders around a bit to get a feel of the place. The building is fairly small overall, not much bigger than Luna’s. There’s another room downstairs that’s currently closed off that appears to contain a booth and sound system, presumably to offer more entertainment on busier nights. In the end, they head to the main floor, finding a spot off to the side where they can reclusively perch and observe unbothered like a true set of wallflowers. 

The dance floor is all but empty save for three people standing together watching the elevated booth where the current DJ is setup. Dubstep wobbles deafeningly from the subs over something of a reggae sounding beat. 

Two of the onlookers mildly bounce to the melody, while one guy throws his hands in the air and bangs his head like this was the most incredible performance he had ever experienced in his life. 

It’s all Ten can do not to cringe. 

As his eyes drift over the few patrons littered about, he wonders where Johnny is. Not that he particularly wants to seek him out or anything, but the whole reason they were even here was to see him, after all. He concludes he must be backstage. 

Hendery watches the DJ booth skeptically, while the man running the controls stands there and appears to be messing with a switch board. His uncertain eyes then turn to observe the meager audience before he turns toward Ten. 

“This isn’t exactly what I expected it to be!” Hendery shouts because he has to if he stands any chance of being heard over the music. 

Ten can hardly blame him. 

“Aw, come on, guys!” Yangyang loudly chimes in. “Have fun with it!” He throws his hands in the air and starts banging his head in a similar fashion to the one other enthusiastic audience member. 

Ten watches him for a moment, as though trying to determine if this was real, or he was just imagining it. He shakes his head, walking across the room. “Yeah, I need a drink.” 

Hendery scurries after him, and not wishing to be left behind, Yangyang’s soon on their tails. 

Once their drinks are ordered, they return to their spot against the wall, fading back into the background. Ten forces himself to sip his drink, tempting as the current music and overall mood have him to down it quickly. 

He knows that if he does that though, he'll soon be ordering another, and Ten doesn't want to get completely shitfaced tonight. Although he feels like one might have to be in order to stand this place, he still doesn't like the idea of being vulnerable in a public spot outside of his element, especially not when he has Hendery and Yangyang with him. They’re younger, and as much as they like to act otherwise, they’re still a bit naïve to the world. 

Ten’s eyes wander over to the doors leading to the balcony more than once. If it wasn't freezing outside currently and wouldn't cost them to recheck their coats, he would suggest they hide out there for the time being. 

More than once, he considers calling this idea off and taking Hendery and Yangyang out of here with him. He had yet to actually see Johnny, so it's not like he would ever know. 

Still… as quickly as the thought occurs to him, he just as quickly feels a twist in his stomach. He's not sure if he feels obligated because Johnny went to one of his shows or if he worries that Johnny might know he was here and left (and why _that_ idea bothers him, Ten refuses to dwell on) or if it's something completely different. 

Whatever the reason may be, Ten doesn't end up even voicing the idea, much less trying to act on it. 

More people trickle their way in one by one. By the time the first DJ wraps up their set, there's a decent size crowd. They don't particularly seem interested in said DJ though, not regarding the heavy bass around them with more than an idle bob of their heads as though vaguely registering background music. 

Ten and Hendery and Yangyang are on their second round of drinks by then, and Ten is glad they got them when they did with how the crowd starts piling around the bar. They are still secluded along the wall even as the floor starts to fill out. Only Yangyang has any interest in wandering but ends up not with the way Hendery clings to Ten and Ten refuses to move. 

There's people moving behind the DJ booth, and at first, Ten doesn't pay it much mind since it appears to be the last DJ taking down their equipment. 

However, like there's something about the tall DJ's presence that makes itself known even before Ten sees or hears him, he finds his eyes darting to the booth to see the man in question right as he stands up. His eyes are lowered to the board in front of him, likely setting up his own equipment while a couple others are working with him at his sides, seemingly connecting things and communicating their setup to each other. 

Ten doesn't realize how long his gaze is lingering until Yangyang snaps him back to reality with a simple, "Is that him?" 

Ten blinks, caught off guard, lips parting to answer, but before any words come out, Hendery is quick to say, "Yes!" with a vigorous nod. 

"Ooh," Yangyang coos, checking Johnny out with an exaggerated draw of his gaze before lightly elbowing Ten and biting his bottom lip. 

Ten swats at his elbow and rolls his eyes. 

In between sets, the music is quieter, and while the hum of club-goers has picked up, they still can speak to each other more comfortably. 

Hendery is sipping from his drink in one hand, while the other is holding his phone in front of his eyes. “Should I text Feng?” 

“I thought you asked him to come with tonight?” Yangyang asks with a tilt of his head. 

“I did,” Hendery frowns. “But he didn’t reply.” 

“Do _not_ text him,” Ten insists, reaching for Hendery’s phone, but the younger holds it out of reach. “I already hate him.” 

“No, Ten, you haven’t even met him!” Hendery whines but pockets his phone regardless. 

“I don’t need to,” Ten huffs. “He’s a fuckboy, obviously.” 

“Forget him,” Yangyang says. “There’s plenty of cute guys out here tonight.” He turns to look at the audience. 

Hendery turns his attention to the audience alongside Yangyang with a quizzical expression on his face. 

“Careful,” Ten says, sipping from his drink. “We have no idea how queer-friendly this place is.” 

This is exactly what he means by naïve. They have their supportive little bubble at school and at Luna’s and tend to forget that the rest of the world hasn’t quite caught up with them. 

The club suddenly goes pitch black. The audience cheers, and the speakers come to life with faint echoes of sampled recordings while the crescendo of a single electronic note promises to lead into an energizing song. 

The note expands like the acceleration of an engine before igniting into something loud and much more upbeat than the previous performer, the drumline heavy and pulsing. Lights of various colors stream from around the DJ booth, illuminating Johnny inside of it and creating a silhouette of all the raised hands in the audience. 

“Blue Roooooom! How’s everyone doing tonight?” Johnny’s voice cuts in. 

The effect on the audience is instantaneous, the cheers roaring even with the giant amps to contend with. 

All previous conversation is forgotten as Yangyang pumps a hand into the air and cheers, the energy infecting Hendery too, who places his curled fingers against his lips and whistles loudly. 

Ten holds his half-empty drink in front of him, still leaning back against the wall and observing. 

The stage lights swirl around, running all along the ceiling before spilling all over the audience. Johnny bangs his head, hands moving all over the switch board, his face set in full concentration of what he’s doing. A large pair of headphones bounce on his neck, and he occasionally grabs one side, holding it up to his ear while his other hands runs all over the various dials. 

Unlike the previous DJ’s audience, this one is completely enthralled. Everyone is jumping, and there’s a few spots of people spread out so that individuals can take their turns showcasing their various dance talents, and as much as Ten is reluctant to admit it even in his mind, there is something about the display that tempts him, if only because he can’t refuse a challenge. 

He doesn’t fail to notice Johnny’s impact on the female audience, the way so many try to make their way to the front and call his name. Although focused intently on his sound board, he occasionally glances up with a flirty smirk, and they effectively lose their minds. 

Yangyang curls his way up to Ten’s side, hooking his arm around Ten’s and leaning by his ear. “You’re going to seriously look up there at him and tell me you don’t think he’s fucking hot?” 

Ten’s eyes lock onto Johnny’s face. The lighting of the stage emphasizes the contrast of all his facial features, the intensity of his eyes, the curve of his lips. He can see the glisten of sweat forming along his brow, and as if on cue, Johnny reaches up to drag his hair away from his forehead, and it doesn’t matter what Ten is or isn’t willing to admit to himself, the hot pulse of hormones that run through his veins in that moment speak the truth quite clearly. 

Yeah, Johnny’s hot. Johnny’s really hot. 

“Come on!” Yangyang shouts, tightening his grip on Ten’s arm. He hooks the other around one of Hendery’s and tugs them toward the dance floor. “The two of you are having fun tonight whether you like it or not!” 

Ten makes a face, and while he’s not right on Yangyang’s heels, he’s not resisting either. Throwing the rest of his drink back, they set their empty glasses on the nearest surface they find before disappearing into the crowd. 

Hendery and Yangyang immediately take to the beat, hips and shoulders moving. Ten eyes them warily, unmoving, but they are determined, closing in on both sides until he is smiling and shaking his head, gently swatting back. 

Humoring them, Ten’s hips start to sway to the music as well, which soon turns into encouragement as the two younger boys laugh and cheer. The energy is infectious, and soon Ten is laughing along with them. 

Between their laughter, the pulse of the drumbeat, and the alcohol warming his veins and softening his walls, Ten’s movements grow, letting that energy sink into him as well. 

It helps that he has Yangyang and Hendery laughing along with him. With as busy as they had all been since the start of the school year, they hadn’t really found the time to go out and really let loose like this. While this isn’t the kind of place that Ten expected to find himself reigniting this side of himself, in the moment, he can’t feel all that bad about it. 

And, okay, maybe the music isn’t as terrible as he would’ve assumed. He even recognizes some of it. He’s not a stranger to Daft Punk, and Johnny apparently has an ear for some artists that Ten likes, such as Moon Taeil. He’s not just spinning the radio tracks though. Everything is sampled into remixes that are distinctly Johnny’s. 

The energy blaring through the speakers ripples infectiously through the audience. Johnny really knows how to work them. At one point, Johnny even drops a bass-heavy version of Baby Shark, which has the whole place laughing and bouncing. Even Ten, who rolls his eyes when he looks up at the DJ Booth to see Johnny wearing a giant grin and egging on the audience, finds it in him to join in the laughter. 

Though if asked, he might later blame it on alcohol. 

When they’re well into the set, Johnny takes it down with something almost ethereal and hypnotic, pulsing in a gradual way, and by then, Ten has let it all sink in, let go of his ego and simply followed his instincts. His feet glide over the floor and his arms extend elegantly from his body. He has no idea at what point people started to move back until he realizes he’s in the middle of a small circle of onlookers. 

Of course, Yangyang and Hendery cheer for him the loudest—as they well should, being his close friends—but the strangers surrounding him are equally as entranced and as enthusiastic as Ten moves to the melody, torso rolling, fingers fanned out and curving delicately through the air. 

He smiles, allowing himself to indulge in the amassed attention of his impromptu performance. 

An hour and a half passes by so quickly, Ten doesn’t even realize it until Johnny’s announcing his final song. By the time he’s off stage, Ten, Yangyang, and Hendery are all so flushed and sweaty that they agree that standing out on the snowy patio without their coats actually sounds inviting. 

And it is. Ten undoes one of the buttons of his blouse, pinching the material and shaking it, allowing the cool breeze to soothe the heat from his skin. A couple people make idle conversation with the trio that seem friendly enough, though the divide between this scene and their own is definitely prominent. 

Still, whether it’s some of the alcohol lingering in his veins or the endorphins built up from all the dancing, Ten doesn’t find himself quite as irked by their presence as he may have any other day. 

Heading back to the door, Ten runs his fingers through his hair to break up where it clumped from the sweat drying. 

“So what now?” Hendery shrugs, bouncing on his feet next to Ten. 

Ten shrugs, lips quirking as he considers the question. “I don’t know. We should probably go home.” 

“What?” Yangyang grabs his arm, stopping them. “The night’s not over!” 

Something tugs in Ten’s stomach, something that agrees with Yangyang, but perhaps it’s because he’s burned through the alcohol that the more logical part of himself comes back out as he says, “We saw Johnny. That’s what we came for.” 

“But you haven’t even talked to him!” Hendery says. 

Ten holds back a sigh, watching a couple people slip out from the door, revealing the massive crowd gathered in the dimly lit inside. “It’s not like we can go backstage,” he points out. “And there’s no way we’re going to find him in that crowd. That’s assuming he even comes out into the audience. He didn’t know I was coming. He doesn’t know to look for me.” 

As they head back inside, the whole club is packed now. The music is still turned down as preparations are made on the stage for tonight’s headliner. 

Hendery and Yangyang attempt a few more protests, but they realize they don’t have much ground to stand on. Ten leads them on the outskirts of the crowd, leading them to the stairs that takes them back down to the coat check. He’s only a few feet from them when he hears a familiar, surprised voice. 

“Tiny Dancer!” 

Ten stops, blinking and looking behind him to see none other than Johnny himself exhaling a stream of vapor and smiling right at him. 

The trio turns to face him as he approaches. Ten can feel Hendery’s hand curling into the back of his shirt, the excitement practically radiating off of him. Ten swats back at him with a side glance, as though warning him not to blurt something stupid. 

“I thought someone on the dance floor appeared a little more elegant than the usual fair,” Johnny says. 

Ten shrugs, a hint of a grin twitching on the corner of his lips as he looks up at Johnny, but he tries to keep his overall mood casual. “Well, I thought I’d be a little more open-minded and come check you out.” 

“Yeah?” Johnny stops in front of him, not even trying to hide the amusement on his grin. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were enjoying yourself.” 

Ten hums. “But you do know better.” 

“Cold.” Johnny sighs and shakes his head exaggeratedly, but the grin soon returns as he turns his attention to Hendery and Yangyang. “Is he like this with everyone? 

“Basically.” Yangyang nods, wincing apologetically. 

“Ah,” Johnny says, and when he looks at Ten again, that obnoxiously confident little smirk finds its way to his lips. “I won’t take it personally then.” 

Ten snorts, folding his arms over his chest. 

It’s then that Johnny registers where they are. “You’re not leaving, are you?” 

Ten opens his mouth, but Yangyang cuts in, pressing against Ten’s side. “No! We’re not going anywhere!” 

Ten looks over at Yangyang with slightly narrowed eyes, but Johnny just beams at them. “Great! I’ll buy you all drinks.” 

Ten forces a polite grin, shaking his head. “You don’t have to—“ 

“That’s very nice of you, thanks!” Hendery cuts in, and he and Yangyang are on either side of him, pressing gently into the back of his shoulders. 

Ten looks from one to the other, glaring daggers, but they just grin brightly in return. 

Ten introduces Johnny and his friends while the DJ orders them their drinks. Johnny asks the younger two if they’re having a good time, to which they both nod enthusiastically. 

The conversation between the three carries on just as amicably while Ten keeps quiet and observes as he accepts his drink, sipping from the straw. 

He’s not sure if he’s annoyed or pleased with how quickly and agreeably Hendery and Yangyang have taken to Johnny. 

In hindsight, he should’ve brought Kun if he wanted someone on his side, but he knew there was no way in hell that he was going to drag him into this place, and some small part of Ten’s pride was glad that Kun didn’t witness him losing himself on the dance floor. 

Everyone here seems to know Johnny. The guys greet him with, “bros,” and “sick set!”, whereas the girls all bat their lashes and giggle, and although Johnny takes it all in shamelessly, he keeps the interactions brief, giving his attention to Ten and his friends instead. 

Johnny leans against the edge of the bar, sipping from his glass. “You can be honest,” he says, leaning down by Ten’s ear a little so he can be heard. “Did you totally hate it?” 

“I didn’t _hate_ it,” Ten says, pinching the stirrer in his glass and swirling the ice around. “This isn’t exactly my scene.” He turns his head, looking out at the people around them before looking back up at Johnny. “But… you’re good at what you do. And you’re style isn’t so bad, I suppose. For electronic music.” 

“Coming from you, I’m gonna take that as a grand compliment,” Johnny says. 

Ten rolls his eyes. “Okay.” 

“A testament to true artistry,” Johnny continues with an exaggeratedly wistful sigh. 

“Oh my God…” Ten says, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, despite himself. 

“A true declaration of love~” 

“Stop.” Ten lightly bites on his lower lip to contain it. 

“Johnny Seo: Master of bass and stealer of hearts~” 

Ten’s brow creases, and he stares at Johnny deadpan for several long moments as though trying to decipher if Johnny is out of his mind or if he’s truly that dumb. 

Then they both burst out laughing. 

Ten shakes his head, covering his face with both hands, completely at a loss for words. 

However, as his laugh calms down and he lowers his hands, he looks back up at Johnny to see that his expression has settled into something more humble. His eyes are soft, yet they leave Ten feeling inexplicably exposed. 

Ten’s own smile quiets down, and he swallows. “What is it?” 

Johnny shakes his head, warmth unhidden in his eyes. “I just haven’t seen you laugh like that before.” 

Ten feels the heat creep up on his cheeks, and there’s something so penetrating about Johnny’s gaze, despite it being so contradictorily soft. It’s then that Ten looks around and realizes Hendery and Yangyang are no longer with them. He looks around a little more urgently to spot them at the opposite end of the bar, huddled together with their eyes right on them. When they spot Ten looking their way, they both smile, and Yangyang gives Ten a thumbs up. 

Ten’s eyes widen, scandalized that they just snuck away and left him like that. 

At the exact same moment, the speakers boom, and the next performer introduces themselves, the whole club cheering. 

Johnny has to lean in closer to Ten’s ear to be heard. “That’s my friend, DJ Haechan. He’s great. You should see him.” 

“Oh,” Ten says, looking up at Johnny. “I don’t know…” 

The music starts to play, and Johnny stands back upright, sipping from his glass as he starts to shake his hips in a playful way, eyes locked on Ten as the roll of his body becomes more pronounced and confident. 

Ten shakes his head, but he can’t help but laugh. 

Setting down his drink, Johnny takes Ten’s hand, dancing his way away from the bar. “Come dance with me!” 

“What?” Ten looks back at Yangyang and Hendery, almost pleadingly, but they just smile and wave, clearly having no intention of moving from their spot while Johnny drags him away. 

Some friends they are. 

“Johnny. Wait,” Ten says out loud, but his body tells a different story, setting his now empty glass aside as his feet move along without any real hesitation. 

Johnny leads him into the middle of the crowd, and Ten follows for better or worse. The room goes dark, save for the rainbow of color illuminating the DJ booth, and the speakers burst with an energetic beat that hits the ground running, not too unlike Johnny’s style yet distinct in its own right. 

Johnny’s hand is still holding onto his, even as he throws his head back practically howling, tossing his free fist into the air. The high intensity of the melody visibly infects Johnny, and he’s jumping to the rhythm, banging his head along. As Ten watches him, there’s something about Johnny’s energy that’s so childlike, something about his cheeks getting so round and his eyes squinting under the expanse of his smile that Ten just can’t find the annoyance that the other usually evokes out of him. 

He’s like a giant puppy that just discovered snow for the first time, and the warmth that spreads through Ten’s chest speaks the truth whether he’ll consciously admit it or not. 

The truth that not only is Johnny really hot, but he’s pretty damn cute as well. 

A smile works its way onto Ten’s face before he can think better of it. 

As the beat comes down, so does Johnny, turning to face Ten. “Don’t just stand there, Tiny Dancer!” he shouts to be heard over the music. Lifting Ten’s hand, he gives it a light tug. “Dance with me.” 

Ten shakes his head, even though he can’t quite shake the grin on his face. 

That doesn’t deter Johnny though. His body rolls along with the music, eyebrows waggling exaggeratedly as he watches Ten with a playful gaze, and as silly as he definitely looks, he somehow still makes it look good. 

“You’re ridiculous!” Ten shouts through a chuckle. 

Johnny just shrugs, not even trying to deny it. 

Ten rolls his eyes, but his hips start to rock almost shyly, like this is something silly that he shouldn’t take too seriously. 

“That’s it!” Johnny’s body keeps moving as he takes a step in closer. 

Ten doesn’t know what it is. If it’s the new round of alcohol warming his veins, if it’s the leftover endorphins from earlier, or if it’s simply the playfulness of Johnny’s grin, but the half-hearted jerk of his hips start to grow into something more full and fluid. 

Johnny takes to the cues without additional prompting, his expression softening, fingers gliding over the back of Ten’s hand. It’s like he can read him better than Ten can read himself, like their bodies are communicating in lieu of words. 

It’s strange. That he’s here, in a place like this, with a person like this. It’s absurd, and Johnny is absurd, and he’s just as absurd for going along with it. He feels completely ridiculous, and yet… 

He just can’t bring himself to feel bad about it. 

Johnny steps up a little closer, letting go of Ten’s hand to gently take hold of his shoulder. It’s a tentative touch, testing the waters, and when Ten doesn’t shy away, his palm slides down the silky fabric to the side of his waist. 

Ten’s heart hammers, and his lungs have to work a little harder than they did a moment ago to draw in breath. 

In some semblance of an attempt to keep from sinking too deep in the moment, Ten glances around them, a coy grin finding its way to his lips. He rolls onto his toes so that he can reach Johnny’s ear. “Should I be grinding my ass on your crotch like the girls here seem to be doing to the other guys?” 

“Your style seems a little more sophisticated than that,” Johnny chuckles into his own ear, and then his tone drops as he adds, “But if you wanted to, I wouldn’t mind.” 

Ten turns his head to meet Johnny’s gaze, and even though the alcohol has his body and mind sufficiently unwound and feeling good, he’s not so inebriated to miss the way Johnny’s pupils are completely blown. 

And as Johnny’s hand slides its way to the small of his back, the roll of their hips starting to brush against each other’s, Ten has no doubt his must look the same. 

He’s entranced, caught up in Johnny’s spell that has his body temperature rising and everything in him twisting up and ready to burst. It’s like the whole world around them has slowed down, muted and distant, a million miles away. 

They’re surrounded by a whole building packed with people, but it’s like they’re the only two in the room. 

Johnny’s eyelids fall, and he’s so close that Ten can feel his breath ghost over his lips. He knows what’s about to happen. He can feel it coming, and that small voice of pride in the back of Ten’s mind suggests that he maybe stop this, but the heat that spills into his veins silences that thought before it can truly emerge. 

Ten doesn’t move away, doesn’t even try to resist when Johnny’s lips slide over his. 

He should be embarrassed with himself, surely, with how easily his lips part under Johnny’s, how automatically his eyes close and his hand reaches up to curl around the back of Johnny’s neck, the pads of his fingers lined along the nape. But he just can’t find it in himself to be. He can’t find it in himself to feel anything other than the heat of desire welling up in him so effortlessly. 

So he allows himself to indulge without any care of consequences or future possibilities, truly enjoying the moment. His heels rise from the ground as he presses into the kiss, eager to catch a taste of Johnny on his tongue, while Johnny’s palm fits perfectly into the curve of his back, pulling their bodies together as his own lips glide over Ten’s with a mutual hunger. 

When they part, Ten is panting for breath, lids drooped as he meets Johnny’s glazed over eyes. 

“Where did you come from?” Ten breathes into Johnny’s ear when the taller ducks his head. His hand slides back down to the top of Johnny’s shoulder, his thumb hooking possessively around the collar of his hoodie. 

When Johnny lifts his head, his dark, penetrating gaze brightens as a grin draws across his lips, his face lighting back up into that puppy expression. “Chicago.” 

An exasperated expression falls onto Ten’s face. He laughs, playfully slapping Johnny’s chest. “You’re so annoying!” 

“I know,” Johnny replies, taking Ten’s hand into his. His eyes darken once more. “But you like it.” 

Ten doesn’t try to argue it as his eyes close and Johnny’s lips meet his again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, please let me know what you think! It's muchly appreciated! ♥
> 
> Find me on tumblr: [@feyjungwoo](http://feyjungwoo.tumblr.com)  
Find me on twitter: [@ninissymbiote](http://twitter.com/ninissymbiote)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you for the kind comments last chapter! They really keep the motivation going with this, and I don't think I can really express the full extent of my gratitude in words. Just. Guh. THANK YOU. ♥
> 
> Also, I apologize this chapter took a little longer to post. The holidays have had me heckin' busy, and I've only been able to work on it in short intervals. ;;
> 
> Last, wow, okay, I thought the last chapter got away from me, but THIS one... aha... ahahahaha...
> 
> Anyway, without further ado...

Outside the Blue Room, Hendery and Yangyang stand huddled together. Steam rises up visibly from their lips as they wait at the curb, the once bumping club now dark and quiet behind them.

“You don’t have to babysit us,” Yangyang tells Ten. “Dejun will be here in a minute. You can go.” 

“I’m not leaving the two of you down here by yourselves.” Ten stands at Hendery’s side, rubbing a hand over the back of his shoulders as though that might help warm him up, despite the fact that he’s shivering quite considerably himself. “I’ll wait until Dejun arrives.” 

A light crackling hiss next to him has Ten turning his head to see Johnny exhaling a cloud of vapor before looking at Yangyang. “Are you sure you don’t want to just hitch a ride with me?” Johnny asks. “I can drop you two off. It’s not a big deal.” 

Yangyang smiles. “Thanks, but it’s okay. My boyfriend’s already on his way.” 

Johnny nods. “Alright.” 

“You two really don’t have to wait with us,” Yangyang continues to explain. He then tilts his head toward Ten. “We can handle ourselves. Ten just likes to flex his seniority.” 

Ten frowns, but Johnny just laughs. “It’s fine. I don’t mind waiting a few minutes. I get it. Peace of mind and all that.” 

Yangyang’s phone goes off just then, and he answers it to find that Dejun’s nearby. With Yangyang’s help, Dejun locates them and pulls up to the curb. 

“Text me when you’re home,” Ten tells Hendery, patting his shoulder before they head off. 

Hendery smiles and nods, and the two younger boys wave their goodbyes as they slip into the car. 

“Nice meeting you, Johnny!” Yangyang calls out. “Have fun tonight, you two! Don’t forget a condom!” 

Ten makes a face at Yangyang’s ridiculously large smile as the latter continues waving from the passenger side. He’s not embarrassed by the remark, but it’s still tasteless. 

Dejun pulls away, and Ten turns to face Johnny. 

“Sorry.” Ten shakes his head, hugging himself and rubbing his arms in an attempt to warm them. “They’re younger than me, and I can’t just leave them down here. If something happened, I’d never forgive myself.” 

“You don’t have to explain yourself. I totally understand,” Johnny says, shrugging out of his coat and taking it into his hands. He whips it around Ten, pulling it against his shoulders as he grins down at him. “It’s cute.” 

Between the added layers and Johnny’s body heat clinging to the inside of the coat, the warmth envelops Ten comfortably. He doesn’t bother fitting his arms into the sleeves, instead wearing it like a blanket as he reaches up to pinch the collar with both hands. A small grin appears on his lips as he lets Johnny curl an arm around his back and lead them off to the small parking lot behind the Blue Room. 

Ten tugs Johnny’s coat tighter around himself. As he draws in a breath, the scent of Johnny’s cologne has his nostrils unconsciously flaring, sending a warm pulse through his chest. 

“Aren’t you cold?” Ten asks, looking up at Johnny. Whether his blood is warmer or he’s good at concealing it, Ten can’t say, but the taller boy does appear unbothered by it. 

“I can handle it,” he says simply. 

Another car is parked next to Johnny’s, and there’s two people hauling a soundboard into the trunk. Ten recognizes one of them as DJ Haechan, more by the distinct sound of his voice than his appearance (Ten was a little too preoccupied to get a good look at the DJ booth during that last performance). 

“Hey,” says the other boy helping him, smiling up at Johnny. He grunts as he positions the board into the trunk then sighs after setting it down. Turning toward Johnny, he walks up to him. “You get all your stuff? You need help with anything?” 

“Nah, I got it, man,” Johnny says, letting go of Ten’s back so that he can clasp the other guy’s hand and bump his chest with his own. “Great night!” 

“Great night!” the other guy agrees, and then his eyes turn to Ten curiously. 

“Ah,” Johnny says. “Mark, this is Ten. Ten, Mark. And DJ Haechan is Donghyuck.” 

“Hello~” Donghyuck calls out, waving one arm animatedly. 

“Nice to meet you,” Mark says, smiling. 

“You too,” Ten says, peeking one hand out from under the layers of coat to lightly wave, forcing a polite grin that he hopes doesn’t look as awkward as he feels. 

Ten keeps his distance as the two make their brief exchange. 

His eyes idly wander, not really taking in anything until they settle on the night sky. Clouds obscure the stars overhead, and even though the snow has stopped falling, the chill has settled in heavily. It has tendrils of fog curling from his lips and the tip of his nose glowing red. 

It’s a contrast to the warmth from inside the building not that long ago, to the heat of Johnny’s body pressing into his back as he wrapped his arms around Ten’s chest and whispered right into his ear, _”Come home with me?”_

And Ten had melted back into Johnny, tilted his chin up and practically offered himself right there, despite all the people surrounding them as he replied with, _”Yes.”_

A shiver runs through Ten then that he’s not entirely sure he can blame on the cold. Blinking, his attention turns to the back of Johnny’s head, while the taller boy laughs with Mark. 

Ten nips at the inside of his lower lip, wondering if he should really be doing this. 

It’s not that he feels unsafe. The alcohol had definitely well passed its peak in his system, and nothing about Johnny’s behavior suggested he had many drinks before the one he had with Ten. 

He also thinks that if he were to tell Johnny that he changed his mind and to take him back home that he would do so without protest. No, it’s not that. He feels perfectly safe. 

Nevertheless, in a lot of ways, Johnny is still a stranger to him. He’s not the first stranger Ten has went home with, but he certainly hasn’t ever hooked up with anyone quite like him. 

But that’s all this was, right? A hookup. Lucas may have been juvenile as all get, but his comments about his sex life, or currently lack thereof, really weren’t inaccurate. 

And Johnny, well… he was hot. Not to mention with as amazing as his lips felt against his own, the way his fingertips sent sparks over his skin even through the fabric of his blouse, Ten has a good feeling he’s in for a treat. 

Sure, Johnny isn’t the most refined, and some of his habits and aesthetic choices left a lot to be desired, but… he isn’t a bad person. Far from it, in fact. Ten could do a whole lot worse as far as one-night stands go. 

He has. 

“Get home safe, yeah?” Johnny says as he turns away from Mark, holding a hand in the air. 

“Yeah, you too,” Mark says, returning the wave. 

“Sorry,” Johnny says, a sheepish grin curling on the side of his lips. “You ready?” 

Ten nods, following Johnny over to his car and letting himself in on the passenger side. 

“You can put on your music, if you want,” Johnny says. 

“I was going to, anyway,” Ten replies with a faint smirk. 

Connecting his phone to the stereo Bluetooth, Ten puts on the Killers, which has Jonny laughing and exclaiming, “I knew it!” 

Ten reaches over to lightly swat at Johnny’s arm, but as Johnny starts singing along to the song, Ten feels the corner of his lips twitch. 

Once they’re on the road, Johnny reaches over to link his pinky around Ten’s, using the rest of his hand to grab hold of the stick shift. He leans over toward Ten, eyebrows twisting expressively as he makes a show of his driver’s side performance before turning his gaze back to the road ahead of him. 

Ten shakes his head, but a grin finds its way onto his lips anyway. He ultimately gives in, tightening his pinky around Johnny’s and singing along with him. 

When they’re parked outside Johnny’s apartment, Ten watches the taller boy as he’s half-buried in his truck, trying to gather his equipment into his arms. 

“Can I help you with anything?” he asks. 

“Mm?” Johnny turns his head then glances around the back of his trunk. “Sure, you can grab that,” he says, nodding toward a small case. 

Ten leans in to grab it, mentally noting that it’s not that heavy as he hugs it to his chest, but he figures Johnny probably does this enough that he can handle the rest himself by now. 

“I’m not going to have to worry about any awkward interactions with roommates, am I?” he asks as they’re headed up the stairs inside the building. 

“Nah,” Johnny answers, grunting as he reaffirms his hold around his equipment. “He’s gotta be up early for work tomorrow morning, so he’s probably long asleep.” 

Ten is silently relieved. 

He once again asks Johnny if he can help him with anything while the taller boy is juggling his keys in one hand, but Johnny manages to finagle his way inside. 

Ten follows after him, not paying the front room much more than a passing glance as they head to Johnny’s bedroom, setting down the case in the corner where he tells him to. His apartment is quite a bit warmer than the icy outside they had left, the tip of his nose and extremities tingling back to life, and Ten sheds both his and Johnny’s coats, folding them over his forearm. 

His gaze automatically wanders, and his feet follow in suit. 

Ten hadn’t given much thought to what Johnny’s bedroom might be like, yet somehow, it is both exactly like he would’ve thought and not at all. Posters line the walls, bands, movies, brand names, curiosities. There’s a skateboard displayed on the end with a “CKY” sticker that’s all scratched up in the middle, but with the way it’s sturdily mounted, Ten thinks it’s probably more kept as a relic of the past rather than currently used. 

A corkboard with several photographs of various sizes pinned to it has Ten pausing. Most of the photos are scenic, containing iconic landmarks, the majority of which in black and white. Between the quality of the photos and the ambience in which they were taken, Ten’s first thought is that they are professional. However, as he registers that some of the photos contain young people, a couple even containing Johnny himself, with his arm extended to the corner of the image as though taking a selfie, he realizes that Johnny must have taken these. 

Ten’s eyes widen slightly when they fall onto a series of photos containing a large, Victorian-esque bridge with towers on either side. 

“Have you ever been to London?” Johnny asks. 

Ten blinks, looking over at Johnny to see that he’s standing right next to him, taking a hit off his vape mod. He does make a point to exhale the vape cloud away from Ten. 

Ten shakes his head, looking back at the images, which tug at his chest wistfully. 

“You should,” Johnny says. “It’s an incredible place.” 

“One day,” Ten sighs. “I hope.” 

“You will.” Johnny smiles over at him confidently. “With talent and a drive like yours, there’s no way you wouldn’t.” 

A smile draws across Ten’s lips automatically, but he presses them together, turning away from Johnny and continuing on his stroll before the other can see the way his cheeks have warmed up. 

In the far corner of the room is the studio-like setup Johnny has with his computer, switchboards and large speakers, as well as some instruments. Ten pauses behind the computer chair. 

“Where all the magic happens,” Johnny answers, reading Ten’s curiosity. He flops down in the chair, swirling the mouse around to wake up the screen. Ten rests his hands along the back of the chair, leaning in a little and squinting as though that might decipher the program in from of him. 

Said program looks a lot like Johnny’s switchboard. Bars of various colors display along the top above the switchboard, and a waveform of the audio track runs along the bottom. Johnny clicks around to make adjustments that Ten doesn’t understand before hitting the play button, and a miniature fast-paced EDM beat pulses from the computer speakers. 

Johnny turns his head to glance up at Ten, who glances down at him with a mild raise of his brow. 

Stopping the audio file, Johnny stands from the chair and moves over to a bench set in front of a surface currently covered by a sheet. “And this…” he says, taking the corner of the sheet and tossing it back to reveal a keyboard. “…is the real starting place.” 

Switching the keyboard on, Johnny aligns his fingers on the keys, playing out a quick melody. As he reaches up with one hand to change the sounds the keystrokes produce and gets a basic drum line set in place, Ten walks over to the bench and sits down next to him, setting the coats at his side. 

Once Johnny has the settings to his liking, his fingers find their positions again and start to play a new melody. It starts out seemingly soft, gentle, promising to ease the listener in smoothly, but as it carries on, it expands into something much more vast and energizing. 

“A little something I’ve been working on,” Johnny explains, fingers dancing elegantly across the keyboard. He glances up at Ten with a faint smirk on the corner of his lips. “Consider this your exclusive sneak peak.” 

Ten lightly snorts, but as he watches Johnny continue, the precision in which his fingers glide over the keys, the concentration set in his brow and pursed on his lips, he thinks, perhaps, he had been too quick to judge what it is Johnny does. 

Even as he glances over at the computer screen, takes in the intricacy of the program set on display, Ten thinks that if you removed all the intricate equipment and software, gave Johnny paper and pens and classical instruments instead, his talent would shine through just as clearly. 

“It’s missing something…” Johnny muses out loud, tilting his head back as though trying to pinpoint just what. He frowns, looking back down at his fingers as he replays the last verse. 

Ten had classical training, of course, and while it had been some time since he last sat in front of a piano rather than danced next to one, he remembers the basics. Reaching between Johnny’s hands with one of his, while the other rests just outside Johnny’s, Ten lines his fingers up, experimentally playing out a few notes before finding a melody that is different than Johnny’s yet flows alongside it. 

Out of his peripheral vision, Ten can see Johnny look over and grin, but Ten simply keeps playing. Johnny reaches up to flip a switch, and what it does, Ten doesn’t know, but they continue playing together, the two melodies weaving together, like two dancers drifting around each other and coming together, until finally the notes taper off into their natural conclusion. 

Johnny looks over at Ten and laughs, and it’s all too easy for Ten to fall into that laughter with him. 

As the laugh trails off, Ten heaves a breath, his gaze settling on the taller boy’s. “Johnny, you’re… not what I was expecting.” 

“Ah,” Johnny replies, his hand curling around one of Ten’s and lacing their fingers together. “Careful, Tiny Dancer, I might think you’re really starting to like me.” 

Ten’s mouth opens, but Johnny closes in quickly, claiming his lips against his own before the smaller boy can sneak in any snarky rebuttal. Shifting along the bench, Ten turns to face him better. Their lips part, tongues tentatively brushing against each other’s, and Ten doesn’t quite withdraw all the way when he murmurs, “You know, I really thought you were straight.” 

Johnny laughs, waggling his eyebrows a little smugly as he says, “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time you were wrong about me, hm?” 

Ten rolls his eyes, but a grin still lingers on his lips. “Just shut up and kiss me.” 

Johnny doesn’t disappoint. 

They’ve turned as much as they can to face each other, the bench not being the most accessible. Ten fists the shoulders of Johnny’s hoodie into his grasp, while Johnny’s hands press into the small of his back. 

They may have left the club some time ago as well as the bulk of the effects of the alcohol back there with it, but it doesn’t take much for Johnny to reignite that heat inside Ten. With his mouth hot against his own and his ever curious fingers tugging the hem of Ten’s blouse free from his jeans to trace the skin underneath, Ten’s heartbeat is quick to pick up from where they left off. 

Ten’s pride is nowhere to be found, letting his mouth fall open so that Johnny can claim it more thoroughly, a soft moan humming in his throat as their tongues meet and Johnny closes by nipping at Ten’s lower lip. He feels like a contradiction—the warmth in his veins spreading through his body in that way that gets him wound up, yet at the same time he relaxes in Johnny’s embrace, melting into him, letting him do with him as he wishes, his chin tilting way up as Johnny trails a hot line of wet, open-mouthed kisses down the side of his neck. 

“My bed is quite a bit more comfortable than the bench,” Johnny hums playfully into Ten’s ear. 

Ten turns his head to catch a quick kiss on Johnny’s lips before gazing up at him through heavy lids. “Show me.” 

There’s a reluctance to the way Johnny’s hands let go of Ten, the way his fingers glide over him and don’t quite fully withdraw even as he stands up, taking Ten’s hands into his and tugging him up from the bench. 

They kick their shoes off along the way. Johnny sits down along the edge of the bed first, scooting back onto the mattress, and Ten crawls on after him, making his way over to Johnny on hands and knees. 

Their lips meet yet again, eyes closing. Johnny cups Ten’s cheek as their lips part, tongues brushing lightly before the kiss deepens into something much more possessive, leaving Ten’s lips sufficiently swollen. 

As they take a moment to catch their breaths, Ten’s eyes peek open to be met by Johnny’s dark gaze. A smile draws across Johnny’s lips, not a cocky grin but a soft one. The sight of it in combination with the intent way Johnny looks at him makes Ten want to shiver. 

It’s then that it catches up with him just where he is. He remembers the first time he saw Johnny all those weeks ago, and how easily the other could stir a rise out of him without even meaning to. It’s strange to think that here he is now, in his bed, about to bare himself to him. 

A light laugh breathes from Ten’s lips, and perhaps even unspoken, the same realization occurs to Johnny too because he joins in Ten’s laughter before leaning in to press their lips together. 

He feels one of Johnny’s warm hands sneak under his blouse to touch his waist, while the other hand curls around the back of his thigh. In one swift movement that has Ten yelping, Johnny yanks him right into his lap. Ten impulsively throws his arms around Johnny’s shoulders as he straddles him, and Johnny’s hands move up to his sides to keep him steady. Once the initial surprise passes, Ten hugs Johnny’s hips with his thighs, marveling at just how well he fits against him. 

Ducking his head, Johnny buries his face in the crook of Ten’s neck. Ten automatically lifts his chin, not just allowing Johnny the access but inviting him to take it. The brush of Johnny’s plush lips over sensitive skin has the blood in his veins igniting. His fingers claw into the fabric of Johnny’s hoodie while Ten whines and rolls his hips in an attempt to gain friction. 

And Johnny reads him so perfectly, his mouth hot and wet down the side of his neck, one hand dropping between their bodies so that he can cup Ten’s crotch through the fabric of his jeans. Ten gasps, hips pressed forward as much as they can in his given position, and thank goodness Johnny still has a strong arm curled around his back because Ten feels like he might fall to pieces if not for him holding him up. 

Huh, it really had been a long time since he had been with anyone. Perhaps he should’ve been embarrassed about just how easily receptive he is to Johnny when the other had barely done anything, but Ten is here to enjoy himself, and he intends to make full well on that. 

Still, as his eyes open, meeting Johnny’s gaze when he lifts his head, the sight of the pleased grin on his lips inspires that twitch of annoyance that Ten is more familiar with. Never one to back from a challenge—whether it was intended or not—Ten’s hands slide down to the bottom of Johnny’s hoodie, fingering his way through the layers of fabric to take hold of the bottom of his shirt as well, peeling it from his body. 

Letting go of Ten, Johnny lifts his arms overhead, and the garments slip off with little resistance, shucked off aside. Ten’s hands come to a rest on his collar, and as his gaze trails down Johnny’s bare form, he forgets all pretense of what he had initially intended to do as his eyes widen at the sight of perfectly sculpted beauty set out before him. 

“Damn,” Ten whispers, hands sliding up to curve over Johnny’s shoulders, fingertips taking in everything in their wake, tracing every last contour of muscle as they make their way to his biceps. 

He supposes he should’ve realized, with Johnny’s general frame and the strength of his embrace, but he had really kept it pretty well hidden under those layers of jackets and baggy hoodies. 

A soft laugh slips from Johnny’s lips, but before Ten can quite snap out of his trance, Johnny’s claiming his mouth with his own again, hands flattening against Ten’s back as he leans forward, lowering him to the bed and positioning himself over him. 

Ten’s knees automatically hug Johnny’s hips, desperate to keep him close, while the other’s hands slip out from under him, unbuttoning the rest of his blouse before pulling the fabric aside so that he can dip in and latch his mouth to Ten’s collarbone. A gasp breaks from Ten, only emphasized as Johnny’s eager lips leaves a trail down his chest until he’s enveloping one of Ten’s nipples into his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Ten gasps, eyes screwing shut, his back arching off the bed and his nails clawing at the back of Johnny’s shoulders. 

Johnny hums against Ten’s chest, suckling the sensitive nub against the heat of his tongue before coming up with a light popping sound. Ten’s eyes open to see Johnny’s tracing his lips with his tongue before meeting his gaze and grinning at him. 

“You sure are sensitive,” he says. 

“It’s been awhile,” Ten huffs. 

“Well, I’m not complaining,” Johnny hums with a shrug of his shoulders, his hands roving up and down the sides of his body. “You’re fun to play with.” 

Ten reaches as far up Johnny’s arms as he can, trying to tug him back down toward him. “Are you going to fuck me, or are you just going to talk all night?” 

“Ah.” Johnny sits up taller, his hands moving to Ten’s wrist and curling around them as he smiles down at him. “Is that what you want?” 

It’s a willed effort for Ten not to roll his eyes. “I thought that much was obvious.” 

“Yeah…” Johnny sighs, ducking his head to kiss Ten’s knuckles. His hands move to press his palms to both of Ten’s, lacing their fingers together. Leaning down, Johnny pins the back of Ten’s hands to the mattress, hovering over him, a smirk drawing on his lips. “But I think maybe you should try asking me a little more nicely.” 

Ten frowns. “You’re joking…” 

“Mm, no,” Johnny hums, closing in and angling his head to press a kiss right behind Ten’s ear in that way that has his eyelids fluttering. He nips at the shell of his ear before breathing into it, “I wouldn’t joke about something like this.” 

A whine slips from Ten’s lips as Johnny continues showering the side of his neck to the dip in his collar. A shiver runs down Ten’s spine, and his eyes screw shut. “I seriously hate you.” 

“Mm, see.” Johnny rises up so that he can look down at Ten again, hands running down until they reach his hips. One hand slides to his inner thigh, just shy of touching the bulge now visibly straining against the fabric of his jean. The other hand wedges between the mattress and Ten’s body so that he can firmly fondle his ass. “I don’t know if you know this, but that by definition is the opposite of being nice.” 

“Ah!” Ten’s hips impulsively buck upward, but Johnny’s palm smoothes over the curve of his thigh, a promise of the friction he could create but just falling short. “Johnny! Fuck…” 

“Not quite,” Johnny hums, pressing a kiss to the corner of Ten’s lips. 

Ten whimpers, fingers clawing at the back of Johnny’s shoulder blades. “Johnny, please.” 

Johnny chuckles, fingers lifting to the hem of Ten’s pants and flicking them open. “You’re getting warmer.” 

“God, fine. Johnny, would you fuck me?” Ten whines his frustration. He adds as an afterthought, “_Please_.” 

“That’ll work,” Johnny chuckles, unzipping Ten’s pants. His hands then move to his hips to slide off the garment as well as his briefs, Ten’s hard cock springing free and dripping precome onto his lower abdomen. 

“You’re the worst,” Ten huffs. 

“Am I?” Johnny sits up and shifts so that he can rid Ten of the impeding garments. He then positions himself back over him, hands circling around Ten’s cock, the pad of his thumb smearing the precome around the head, making Ten gasp and writhe under him, nails burying into Johnny’s back. 

“It’s funny,” Johnny hums, pressing a kiss next to Ten’s ear. “Because your mouth and your body are saying two different things.” 

“Shut up.” Ten’s fingers delve into the hair on the back of Johnny’s head, pulling him into a hard kiss, deciding that he can’t keep flapping his mouth if he keeps it occupied. 

It works for the moment, lips sliding over each other’s, tongues swirling together before Johnny nips at them. At the same time, his hand works over Ten, his grip strong and skilled and oh so right. Ten groans into the kiss, hips rolling upward, one hand running down Johnny’s back to try to pull him in, wanting him closer. 

But then Johnny breaks the kiss, panting heavy, already plush lips swollen. Ten whines as his hands and body momentarily leave him, feeling cold and exposed, but Johnny only moves to his nightstand, rummaging around before returning to Ten just a moment later. 

Understanding belatedly registers when he sees the plastic bottle in Johnny’s hand, clear liquid pouring from it into the other. 

Johnny’s eyes flit up to meet his. “Relax, okay?” 

Not that Ten needs telling, but there’s something soothing about Johnny’s soft tone that has Ten keeping his snarky comments to himself and nodding instead, thighs spreading open as Johnny reaches between them. 

Ten exhales, letting his body relax with it. It’s not his first time by any means, and he’s not necessarily shy about his body, but there’s definitely a moment there when he’s bared out like this, Johnny’s soft gaze latching onto his as he feels the careful glide of his fingers against his entrance that leaves Ten feeling vulnerable. 

It’s a feeling that soon disappears as Johnny closes in to bring their lips together, breaching Ten with a single finger initially. The way his plush lips brush over his own are pleasantly distracting enough for Ten to remain relaxed during the initial burn as his pliant mouth opens for Johnny’s. 

Johnny is very patient with him, perhaps more so than Ten is with himself. He knows he needs to relax, but it’s hard not to gasp and wriggle, particularly when Johnny adds another finger, carefully opening him up. Every time Ten starts to get wound up though, Johnny’s pressing kisses to his temple and whispering reassurances in his ear, bringing Ten right back down where he needs to be. 

It feels unfair though to have Johnny taking care of him so wonderfully while he still has his pants on. Ten’s hands slide down his torso, carefully undoing his belt and fly, pushing them down enough to free Johnny’s cock, which just as hard as his own. 

He takes the weight of his shaft against his palm, wrapping his fingers around the girth, a giddy pulse running through his chest as he realizes that everything about Johnny is large. 

Johnny’s concentration falters as Ten strokes him, smearing the mess of leaking precome over his palm and dragging it down the velvety flesh. It’s Ten’s turn to grin victoriously, but as Johnny’s fingers submerge to the knuckle, a broken cry slips from Ten’s lips, and Johnny has to soothe him once again. 

Johnny has only just worked in the third finger when Ten decides he’s had enough. 

“It’s good. It’s good,” he whispers urgently, reaching for Johnny’s wrist. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah.” And when Johnny’s fingers are removed, leaving Ten clenching only air and yearning for that friction, he rolls over, shifting up onto his hands and knees, looking back at Johnny over his shoulder. “Fuck me already.” 

Johnny’s hand glides over his back, pressing in the small to make him arch. He hears the clink of his belt buckle and shuffle of material, looking back to see Johnny shedding his clothes the rest of the way off. 

He feels the warm press of Johnny’s thighs against his ass before the other is draping himself over his back. One hand curls around the front of Ten’s chest, and with the height Johnny has on him, it’s very easy for him to reach the back of Ten’s neck with his mouth. 

Ten gasps, shuddering and impulsively reaching up to cover the back of Johnny’s hand before gliding his touch down to his wrist. The girth of Johnny’s cock fits between his cheeks, gliding along smoothly with the lingering smearing of lube. The way the rim of Johnny’s head momentarily catches against his hole before slipping right past without entering has Ten whining, his own cock twitching and leaking further. 

“Dammit, Johnny…” Ten whines. 

The other laughs lightly in his ear. “You’re so impatient,” he murmurs, nuzzling against Ten’s ear before pressing a kiss to it. 

A snippy remark sits on Ten’s tongue, but as Johnny buries his mouth against the curve of where his neck meets his shoulder, lavishing the unblemished skin with hot wet kisses and drags of his teeth, all pretense of words are lost, and Ten instead presses his ass against Johnny’s hips in an attempt to egg him on. 

One that works as Johnny draws away from him. It leaves Ten feeling chilly and irrationally regretful to have the warm body removed from his. However, as he looks back over his shoulder, he catches Johnny pulling a condom open with one hand and his teeth, meeting Ten’s gaze with a dark glaze in his eyes. 

Ten bites his lower lip, his gaze falling to his hands clawing at Johnny’s blankets while he hears the roll of the condom and the click of the lube bottle. 

His breathing picks up when Johnny’s palm smoothes over the small of his back before curling around his hip, knowing what’s about to happen. 

“That’s it,” Johnny says calmly, the weight of his cock sliding between his cheeks more easily now that he has the condom and the extra lubrication. “Just relax for me.” 

Ten nods, heaving a deep breath and consciously releasing all the tension in his body. Still, when the thickness of Johnny’s head stretches his opening, a small cry cracks from Ten’s lips, the arch of his back pressing in further. 

“I’ve got you,” Johnny murmurs, ever patient, rubbing Ten’s side with reassuring strokes of his hand as he presses in further. 

It’s all Ten can do not to tense or wriggle. The girth of Johnny’s cock is definitely greater than his fingers, no matter how generous he is with the lube, and of course, it doesn’t help that Ten had gotten impatient before Johnny had fully worked him open with three fingers. 

“You alright?” Johnny asks when Ten whimpers, the pad of his thumb rolling a circle over one of his Venus dimples. 

“I’m fine,” Ten breathes. He reaches back with one hand in an attempt to catch Johnny’s hip and pull him in. “Don’t stop.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmurs, palm smoothing over the dip in Ten’s back before coming to a rest on his side. 

He draws back, the head of his cock catching on Ten’s rim before he plunges back in even further, leaving the smaller boy gasping and impulsively reaching forward to smack a hand to Johnny’s headboard, clenching a firm grip against it to brace himself. 

Johnny’s so careful, the roll of his hips deliberate, pushing Ten’s limits but knowing not to force it. It’s a good thing that the more potent effects of the alcohol had long since worn off; this could be a lot more sloppy and generally less pleasant. 

As it is though, Johnny demonstrates impeccable control, almost annoyingly so, but two can play at this game. Ten arches his back and rolls his hips toward Johnny’s, clenching around the thickness filling him, and when he hears the curse tumble from Johnny’s lips and feels how his grip on him tightens, a hint of a victorious smirk twitches on the side of Ten’s lips. 

It’s a short-lived victory, however. Johnny leans down, his hand curling around to Ten’s abdomen, lips meeting the sensitivity of the base of his neck as he pushes in completely, hips pressed firm against his ass. Ten’s poise falters, a gasp breaking from his lips, the knuckles from his grip on the headboard turning white as though that’s the one thing holding him together. 

An amused hum from Johnny meets his ear. “You can relax,” he says, his hand smoothing down to Ten’s inner thigh, roving dangerously near Ten’s hard cock, but Johnny’s touch just wanders back up to his side again. “I’ve got you,” he assures him, pressing a kiss to the top of Ten’s shoulder before moving back upright. 

Ten feels like he can do anything but relax. Between Johnny stretching him to what feels like his limits and the way his nimble fingers set everything in his body alight, it all has Ten so wound up. Still, Johnny is patient with him, hands sliding over his hips in a soothing manner, so Ten heaves a breath, forcing his body to relax on the exhale. 

“Good boy,” Johnny murmurs, and Ten has half a mind to scoff, except his cock betrays his pride by twitching. 

That almost annoys Ten further, the way he can feel the smirk on Johnny’s lips even if he’s not looking at him, but then Johnny starts moving again. It starts slow at first, a languid pull of Johnny’s hips, but before he withdraws fully, he pushing back into Ten, bodies meeting firmly, and any sense of coherent thinking starts to flicker like static. They start like quick pulses, interrupting Ten’s stream of thought, but it steadily grows, taking over his mind like it had been filled with fuzz, leaving no room for coherency until all he can process in his more carnal desires, which in that moment is solely focused on Johnny. 

Ten tucks his lower lip between his teeth, muffling the sounds that pulse from his throat, emphasized every time Johnny fills him, growing steadily faster and faster with each movement. 

“Fuck,” Johnny whispers, his fingers digging hard into Ten’s hips—and Ten doesn’t mind; to the contrary, he revels in the feeling, in the sting Johnny’s nails in his skin while the width of his cock stretches him open again and again. “You feel so fucking good.” 

It’s the opportunity to be smug that Ten wanted, but now that he’s here, he can’t really bring himself to feel that way, at least not how he would’ve expected. If anything, the pride he feels draws from an innate desire to make Johnny feel as good as he’s making him feel. 

Ten glances over his shoulder, lips parting in an attempt to formulate a response, but all that comes out is a quick, breathy moan as Johnny slams into him again. 

His body jerks again and again with the force that Johnny’s thrusting into him now, and Ten’s eyes screw shut, moans pulsing from his lips with little restraint. Ten’s fingers claw into the headboard with such force that they eventually slip and his grasp falters. 

However, ever attentive Johnny is quick on his reflexes, dipping in and hooking an arm around Ten’s chest before he can face plant into the pillows. He pulls his back against his chest, his other arm extending to grab the headboard in Ten’s stead, supporting both of them. 

Ten’s naturally spread further from the change in position, Johnny’s cock hitting into him in a way that makes the pleasure branch thick through his inner thighs and lower abdomen. Precome drips down his cock, hard and aching, and all Ten can do is throw his head back on Johnny’s shoulders, hands reaching back to grip onto Johnny’s sides and cling onto him for dear life. 

Ten’s brow knits together, and a moan sings from his throat with such conviction and volume that it surprises Ten to hear it coming from himself. He immediately feels the heat rush to his face, slapping a hand over his mouth as though to contain the sound. 

Johnny just quietly laughs in his ear, the arm around him shifting to ensure he has a good hold of him. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, and even though Johnny’s words have grown notably breathy from all the physical effort he’s exerting, the confidence of his tone never falters. “My roommate’s long asleep. He always has his music on. He won’t hear you.” 

That only makes Ten flush further, though with the heat rising up in his body at the rate it currently is, Ten’s saving grace is that it’s probably not noticeable. 

Then Johnny’s hot lips are on the lobe of his ear, trailing down the side of his neck. The contrast of softness and intensity has the pleasure rippling through Ten, and his hand drops from his mouth in an attempt to find some semblance of purchase reaching back to grab Johnny again. 

“Fuck!” he whispers harshly. 

Johnny hums his amusement into his ear as he nibbles at the lobe. He places a quick peck next to it, and even though Ten’s eyes are closed, he can hear the smile on his face when he murmurs, “You’re really beautiful, Ten.” 

And any bashfulness Ten may have felt hardly compares to what he feels now, bared and sprawled out against Johnny, exposed and vulnerable in every feasible way while the taller is literally impaling him on his cock. However, the really scary part is the uncertain way Ten can’t decide if he wants to bury his face into his hands and hide from Johnny or melt further into him. 

Ten doesn’t have to try to think about it. Releasing the headboard, Johnny falls back to sit on his knees, Ten’s legs automatically straddling his lap. It’s astonishing the way Ten fits here so perfectly, the way his back conforms to Johnny’s chest, how Johnny’s arms fit around him so seamlessly, and yes, even how obscenely well the taller boy fits inside of him. 

The position has to be a bit of a strain for the taller, and Ten does his best to try to move with him from where he sits. Johnny doesn’t show any sign of fatigue though, at least not physically. His breath is ragged, and his body’s hot, sweat building up between the two of them but he keeps going, bouncing Ten on his lap, making the mattress squeak repeatedly. 

His hands rove all over Ten’s body, and Johnny is a keen listener, taking in every gasp and every change in Ten’s moans, paying attention to what spots especially drive him wild. His fingertips tweak at one of his nipples while the other palm works over his inner thigh, hot lips and teeth working their way across the top of his shoulder. Johnny uncovers all of Ten’s buttons with the same precision and expertise as he does his switchboard. 

And Ten can’t hold onto any semblance of dignity if he tried, a moaning, shivering mess in Johnny’s embrace and around his cock, malleable at his fingertips. 

The palm pulling open Ten’s thigh glides down, cupping his balls into his grasp before wrapping his fingers around the length of his cock. With it going untouched for so long, to say Ten is sensitive would be an understatement. 

A gasp tremors from Ten’s lips, and one hand lifts, reaching back over his shoulder to cup the back of Johnny’s head while the other hand reaches down to grip his forearm. “Johnny!” Ten whines with a harsh rasp. “Oh god, Johnny, fuck!” 

“That’s it,” Johnny hums in his ear with annoying amount of stability. 

His fist works over Ten’s cock, smearing the leak of precome around and building up rather quickly to the same pace that he thrusts into him. Ten whines, wriggling and insatiable, hips bucking in desire to push further into Johnny’s hand but also wanting him deeper inside and unable to find a good rhythm but trying frantically nonetheless. 

His nails dig into Johnny’s skin, fingers from the other hand curling his hair into a fist. He turns his head to try to look at him, and Johnny lifts his own then, catching Ten’s lips into a heavy kiss that is all the passion and intensity of the present moment and none of the finesse, teeth clacking together, tongues delving against each other’s while they gulp down the other’s groans. 

“Fuck, Johnny,” he whispers harshly into the kiss while the other catches his lower lip between his teeth. Ten’s thighs quiver, and that heat of pleasure gathering in him has him overloaded, fit to bursting. “Johnny!” he whispers desperately, as though trying to warn him. 

But Johnny doesn’t back down, intent on kissing Ten and holding their bodies tight together as he pumps into him, his hand working just as hard and fast. “That’s it,” he whispers. “Don’t hold back.” 

Ten’s mouth opens as though to speak again but all that comes out is a strangled moan when that coil of heat inside of him finally snaps, flooding through his veins in euphoric waves. Ten’s back arches, his whole body tensing—from where his hands clutch into hard fists all the way down to the tight curl of his toes. Even then Johnny doesn’t stop, Ten’s cock pulsing as he spills all over the back of the fist working him over. 

However, Johnny’s movements slow, stiffer and more jerky, and with the way he groans into the kiss and pulls Ten’s ass against his lap with a finality, Ten realizes he’s reached the peak of his pleasure as well. 

And in that moment, he finds himself wishing he could feel Johnny come inside him. 

Ten’s body unwinds, gelatinous and boneless, his mind feeling very much in the same state as his body. If not for Johnny’ arm around him, he would undoubtedly collapse on the bed. His eyes are closed, the back of his head resting on top of Johnny’s while he catches his breath. 

Johnny releases Ten’s now flaccid cock, keeping his messy hand away from their bodies. “You good?” he asks quietly, his voice notably raspy now. 

Ten nods from where he’s resting. 

Johnny’s other arm starts to relax. “You stay here. I’ll clean us up.” 

Panic jolts Ten when Johnny starts to move. “Wait,” he whispers, impulsively pulling Johnny’s arm back around him, not wanting to remove the warmth of their bodies presses together just yet, not wanting to feel empty. He reaches for the other arm and pulls it around him as well, uncaring of the mess he might get on himself. He’s going to have to shower anyway with as flushed and sweaty as he is. 

Ten can feel the heat on his face, but he figures it’s probably hidden by the whole glow overtaking his body. Sure, this might be a one-night stand, no strings attached, but after sharing something so intense, he can’t help but want to bask in the intimacy just a little while longer. All that pride Ten usually displays might look back at this later and scoff, but right now, his soft and vulnerable mind is so far away from that part of himself. 

It’s been awhile since he’s been with anyone, even casually, and Ten can confidently assert that none of them held a candle to Johnny’s bedroom skills. Hell, he wouldn’t even say his past boyfriends could. 

He’s not so proud to think Lucas was right, he needed this. 

Ten’s at a place in his life right now where making time is costly. He doesn’t have any room for changes, to undertake more than he already has on his overloaded plate. He especially doesn’t have the time nor the mental energy to try to dedicate himself to a relationship. 

But this… this is fine. It’s just one night, and right now, Ten feels good, better than he has for a long time, and is it so wrong to want to savor that just a little while longer? 

He almost expects Johnny to make fun of him, tease him in that cocky sort of way for succumbing to him so easily, for Ten’s momentarily neediness holding him here. 

Johnny doesn’t do that though. He lets his arms wrap back around Ten. His hold is a fair deal more gentle than how he had been handling him just moments ago, but it’s still strong, still warm. It’s just what Ten needs. 

“Johnny…” Ten sighs, lazily letting his head turn so that he can gaze at the other—as best he can in their proximity—eyes heavy. “I didn’t mean what I said earlier… I don’t hate you…” 

Johnny rasps a laugh, dropping his head to press light kisses over the marks he had left on top of Ten’s shoulder. His clean hand raises, fingers running through Ten’s drenched hair to brush the loose strands away from his forehead. Meeting Ten’s gaze, a broad but relaxed smile stretches over his lips. “You still have some work, but your compliments are getting better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /AHEM So... please let me know what you think! ^^
> 
> Find me on twitter at [ninissymbiote](http://www.twitter.com/ninissymbiote/)  
Find me on tumblr at [feyjungwoo](http://feyjungwoo.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, Happy Holidays, everyone! I actually had the rough draft of this done for awhile now, but between the holidays and getting suddenly sick last week, RIP me ;~; I'm all better now though, so thank you for your patience! ♥

Every time Ten wakes that morning, he pulls the covers over his head and goes back to sleep. He impulsively reaches for the covers upon his next waking too, but when he chances a peek, the intensity of the brightness that greets him through the window informs him that it is definitely well into the morning. Although he doesn’t have any place he needed to be, some part of him also registers that he’s not in his own bed, even if he’s not awake enough to quite consciously process that, and so Ten reluctantly stops himself from drifting back off.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he grunts, blinking them open to be met with a large glass of water awaiting him on the nightstand by his head. Ten doesn’t hesitate, pushing himself up so he can snatch it, downing as much as he can as quick as he can. 

Water dribbles down his chin, and Ten sits up straighter, his free hand coming up to try to catch the small streams before he lowers the glass—now three quarters empty—gasping. 

He’s not hungover exactly, but he’s still a little achy and definitely dehydrated. Or he was, rather. It would appear that Johnny’s a considerate host. 

Johnny. It’s then that it registers with Ten whose bed he’s in. Setting the glass back down, he looks over at the empty spot on the bed next to him, the mattress still slightly warm as his fingertips graze over it. 

It’s not the first time Ten’s done the walk of shame. Usually, it involves him waking up earlier and having to slip out from under an arm, while trying not to wake its owner. Johnny has made it considerably easier for him. 

He doesn’t have to wonder too long just where the taller boy had went off to when he hears a faint but distinctly electronic melody coming from the front room, the door leading to it left ajar. From the scrapes of metal and clinks of porcelain he hears accompanying the music, he has the feeling that Johnny is cooking breakfast. 

Slipping his legs off the side of the bed, Ten leans over to search through the scatter of clothing, locating his pants. He pulls his phone out of his pocket to see that the battery is running on empty, but it’s still clinging to some charge. 

He swipes past the notifications, which mostly appear to be from Hendery, in favor of turning on the camera, switching it to selfie mode to use like a mirror. His eyelids are a little swollen, smeared with last night’s makeup, which he tries to wipe away so it’s not as messy (and why he’s concerned with that, he can’t say, but it’s still too early to mull over just yet). 

Sighing, he sets his phone aside and leans back over to rummage through the rest of the clothes on the ground. He plucks up a t-shirt that is definitely not his, and Ten hesitates a moment, glancing at the door. 

He thinks he probably should just grab his own clothes so that he can make a swift retreat and keep the awkward conversation to a minimum, but his stomach chooses that moment to growl, and Ten decides that if Johnny’s taking the initiative to make breakfast, he might as well accept the free meal. 

He pulls the t-shirt over his head. It’s rather baggy on him and also more comfortable than his tight pants would’ve been, falling past his butt when he stands. Finding his briefs as well, he tugs them on before heading over to the doorway. 

Nudging the door a little more open, Ten’s careful not to make any sound, simply observing the situation quietly before announcing himself. One hand lifts to cover his yawn, and he leans against the side of the doorframe, blinking more of the sleep from his eyes before they settle on Johnny. 

A bar island separates the front room from the kitchen. Johnny’s standing in front of it without a shirt on, his pants hanging loosely from his hips. He has a large bowl and some ingredients set out in front of him, and he’s humming along with the beat playing from the speaker set on top of the end of the counter as he cracks open a couple eggs. 

His hair hangs in front of his eyes with the way he’s looking down at the bowl, and Ten’s eyes linger on the curve of his lips a moment, which even in this state of waking has his blood pulsing a little warmer. His gaze lower to Johnny’s wide chest, and Ten can’t deny that there’s just something about him, his perfectly sculpted body and that casual way he carries himself, like everything he does is so effortless, that is inexplicably alluring. 

Ten tilts his head as he continues watching him. This scene is much different than the one from inside the club last night, quiet and undemanding, allowing him to admire him peacefully on his own terms. If he’s being completely honest with himself in this early hour where his mind is soft and resistant to conflict, without the agendas of friends to contend with or his own pride speaking for him, although Johnny isn’t his type (as the electronic beats bumping from the speaker and the cloud of vapor Johnny exhales just then thoroughly remind him), Ten can’t deny that he has some kind of effect on him—visually, if nothing else. 

Ten idly nips at the inside of his lower lip. It occurs to him then that he’s been so caught up in his own regard for Johnny that he hadn’t given much consideration to what the other must’ve thought of him. Ten’s not insecure. He supposes to Johnny he must’ve been a cute catch for him, and maybe even Ten’s initial reluctance had made it fun for him—albeit unwitting from Ten’s behalf—if only because it seems that others that are attracted to Johnny tend to throw themselves at him rather openly. 

He also supposes someone like Johnny, young and attractive with no shortage of admirers, probably has no desire to settle down when the contenders are abundant and free for the picking… a lot like Lucas. 

(Though Ten does sniff and think that Johnny has better taste than Lucas.) 

Ten stands back up from the doorway, stretching the stiffness from his neck and rolling his shoulders. It’s fine, he tells himself before he has the chance to dwell further on that. This was a hookup, and that’s what made it okay. He doesn’t have time for anything else; he already established that. 

Behind the counter, Johnny trades the vape mod in his grasp for a whisk, curling the bowl of ingredients into his other arm as he whips it all together. His eyes lift to the doorway then, and he grins when he sees Ten. 

“Tiny Dancer~ He rises.” 

Ten lightly tuts, but then he slinks over to the bar counter. A pain shoots up his back that has him biting his tongue as he resists the urge to wince, and he finds himself more mindful of his steps. 

Johnny had a quick recovery rate as it turned out, and given that it had been awhile since the last for Ten and who knew how long it’d be for the next, he saw no reason not to go a few more rounds while they were both still awake and eager. 

Approaching one of the bar stools, Ten pulls himself up onto it, resting his temple against his palm and glaring slightly at the speaker. “What sort of masochist enjoys giving himself a headache when he first wakes up?” 

“There’s the Ten I know,” Johnny laughs, dropping the whisk in the bowl so that he can tap his phone that he has sitting up on the counter, changing the playlist to lofi beats, which Ten finds acceptable. “You were looking a little too sweet standing over there by the door quietly. That shirt looks great on you, by the way,” he adds with a wink. 

Ten snorts, shaking his head, but the corner of his lips twitch upward of their own accord. 

“Coffee?” Johnny asks. 

“Please,” Ten replies, rubbing his face with both hands. 

Something fuzzy brushes against his toes, and Ten gasps, hands dropping as he pulls his foot back to see a peach cat at the bottom of the stool looking up at him. 

“You didn’t tell me you had a cat,” Ten says. 

“That’s my roommate’s cat,” Johnny explains, turning away to navigate the opposing counter. The taller boy’s shoulders greet Ten as he lifts his head. They’re so broad and currently displaying various marks left by Ten’s nails and mouth. He has to press his lips together to conceal that bit of pride that wants to display across them. 

Johnny turns to set a steaming mug in front of Ten. “His name’s Boksungie.” 

Ten leans over to drift the back of his fingers over the cat’s head. Boksungie sniffs his fingertips before rubbing the side of his face against them and starts to purr. That earns a light chuckle from Ten before he sits back up, taking the mug between both hands and sipping from it. 

Ah, sweet caffeine. 

“I hope you like pancakes,” Johnny says, moving over to the burner and setting a pan on top of it. 

“I do,” Ten replies in between sips of his coffee. His eyes drift over to the bowl Johnny has ready, and he notices sitting next to it is a clear, plastic container filled with blueberries. His eyes narrow. “Unless you put those ungodly things into them.” 

“What?” Johnny blinks, twisting at the waist to look back where Ten is sneering. He turns fully, taking the box of blueberries and holding them up, looking at Ten as though he just sprouted a second head. “You don’t like blueberries?” 

Ten crinkles his nose, hiding his face behind his mug. “Ugh, no.” 

“And there it is,” Johnny sighs, setting the box back down on the counter. 

Ten cocks a brow over the mug. “What?” 

“You’re one flaw,” Johnny says with a cocky, lopsided grin. 

Ten just rolls his eyes. 

“What do you have against blueberries?” Johnny asks, flipping the box top open to take one and toss it in the air, catching it. 

“It’s not just blueberries,” Ten explains, looking down into his half empty mug. “I don’t like fruit.” 

“Whaaaaat?” Johnny’s eyes are wide, locked on Ten like it’s his first time really seeing him. “Who doesn’t like fruit?” 

“Me.” 

“What, is fruit too mainstream for you?” Johnny asks. 

Ten just frowns. 

“I’m just kidding,” Johnny chuckles. He props his hands against the counter edge and leans against them. “But seriously, when was the last time you had a piece of fruit?” 

“I don’t know,” Ten frowns, murmuring against the lip of his mug as he takes another sip. “It’s not like I keep a tally.” 

“So it’s been awhile?” Johnny reaches for the box, taking a few fingers full of blueberries. “How do you know you still don’t like them? Maybe your palate has matured?” 

He holds the blueberries out to Ten’s face, who lets out a high-pitched yelp and leans back. 

Johnny laughs. 

“It’s not funny,” Ten huffs, swatting at Johnny’s extended hand. 

“You just screamed because of blueberries,” Johnny says. “That’s hilarious.” 

Ten frowns up at Johnny pointedly. “It’s a texture thing,” he explains. “They feel all fibrous, and I don’t like it.” He looks away as his shoulders hunch up, shivering. 

“Alright, alright,” Johnny sighs. He drops the blueberries back into the box and pushes them aside before turning back to the burner. “No blueberries. You weirdo.” 

Ten makes a face but silently appreciates his victory. 

While Johnny takes the bowl of pancake batter and pours some onto the heated griddle, Boksungie jumps up onto the empty stool next to Ten, decidedly requiring more attention. Ten grins, reaching over to pet him under his chin, which earns him a trill as the cat closes his eyes and tilts his head back. 

As far as awkward morning afters go… this one’s not so bad, and later when Johnny drops Ten back off at his apartment and asks for his number, all those reservations Ten built up for why he shouldn’t give it crumble away, and he puts it into Johnny’s phone. 

\-----

It may look like Ten has free time, sitting on one of the plush chairs at Luna’s with his knees pulled up close to his body. The drawstrings of his hoodie are tugged slightly around his face while he lets his creativity flow through the pencil in his grasp onto the textured sketchpad propped against his lap. 

In actuality, this too is just another one of Ten’s responsibilities. This specifically is for one of his art classes. Still, just because it’s part of an assignment doesn’t mean Ten can’t enjoy it. 

In truth, drawing is one of Ten’s favorite pastimes, a form of self-care. It gives him something to focus on and quiets the chaos of his thoughts for a short time, like a break from his own mind. 

Ten’s style generally is described as abstract, evoking feelings rather than displaying articulate definitions. That’s his intention anyway. Sometimes though the meaning behind a piece is a little more obvious, such as it is with this one, which depicts the silhouette of a dancer on a stage that is actually a bridge with ornate towers on either side. 

Ten’s brow is creased in concentration behind his round spectacles, but the feeling in his chest is much softer, tugged periodically by a sense of wistfulness as he allows himself to indulge in the emotion of his artistic vision. 

A high-pitched whine followed by the loud crack of feedback from Luna’s speaker system snaps Ten out of his little bubble, and he blinks up to see Lucas on the stage, dressed in his on-duty apron, standing behind the microphone. 

“Test, one, two, three. Test, one, two, three,” the tall boy says into the microphone. 

Behind him, Dejun sits on a stool lightly strumming his guitar, while Yangyang sits behind the stage’s main amp, peering at the plugs in the back of it curiously. He glares back at Lucas over his shoulder while the latter keeps speaking into the mic. 

“Be quiet for a second,” Yangyang calls out before turning his attention back to the amp, resting a hand on top of it so he can peer down closer. “I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with it.” 

Ten sighs, shaking his head before setting his gaze back onto his drawing. 

However, he doesn’t even touch the pencil to the paper when he’s interrupted by an orange muffin being shoved right into his face. 

Blinking, Ten leans back to see Kun holding it out for him, balancing a tray of more muffins on his other hand. 

“Try this. Tell me what you think. Be honest.” 

Setting down his pencil, Ten takes the muffin from Kun tentatively. Nibbling a chunk off the top of it, Ten glances up thoughtfully as he takes in the flavor. 

“It’s not bad,” he says, licking the remnants from the back of his teeth and noting how gritty it is. He looks up at Kun with a raise of his brows. “Kind of a lot of turmeric though…” 

Kun sighs, seemingly defeated, but he nods in understanding. “I was afraid that might be the case…” 

Glancing back down at the muffin, Ten brings it to his mouth to take another bite, but Kun snatches it from his grasp before he gets the chance, spinning on his heel and heading back to the counter. 

Ten blinks, but then he just shakes his head, resituating himself in the chair and picking his pencil back up. However, another sharp screech of the amp feedback has him lowering it and sighing. 

He turns his narrowed eyes to the stage, where Lucas is freestyle rapping into the microphone. He can’t tell if he really is that oblivious and unaffected by the waves of feedback weaving through the projection of his voice or if he’s just obnoxiously amused by it. 

“Lucas!” Ten finally shouts. “Can you stop being an idiot for three seconds and let Yangyang fix the speakers? Enough already…” 

From the table next to Ten, Hendery, who’s been immersed in his homework this whole time, snickers. 

Lucas murmurs something about Ten acting like he’s got something up his ass because he’s had nothing up his ass just close enough for the mic to pick up, which has Kun snarling at him from behind the counter. Lucas grins like a sheepish puppy, moving the microphone back over to Dejun. 

Ten just rolls his eyes, ready to give his attention back to his drawing, except Lucas, no longer occupied on stage, heads right over to Ten and flops down on the chair next to him. 

“Hey,” he says, draping his arms loosely over the side. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” 

“That’s nice,” Ten replies casually, picking up his pencil and not sparing him a glance as he looks over his drawing. 

Kun marches back over to the chairs with a hand on his hip. “Lucas. I have tables I need bussed.” 

Lucas holds a finger up to Kun, eyes still on Ten. “How come you took Yangyang and Hendery to the club but not me?” 

Kun suddenly forgets about Lucas’ questionable work ethic and turns an accusatory look to Ten. “You actually went to the club?” 

“He did more than go to the club,” Yangyang calls out, standing up and moving around to sit on top of the amp he had been messing with. 

“Yeah?” Lucas sits up a little taller in the chair, eyebrows raising, impressed. 

“That’s right,” Hendery chimes in, grinning knowingly over at Ten. “He went into the club with us but definitely went out with Johnny.” 

“And they made that bed go oontz, oontz, oontz, oontz,” Yangyang chants, holding his fists in the air and wriggling his hips on top of the amp. 

And if that isn’t annoying enough, Hendery sits taller in his chair, pumping a fist and joining him in his chanting. 

Lucas cracks out a high-pitched laugh then holds out one of his massive hands, presumably for Ten to high-five. “Alright! Way to score with Hot DJ!” 

Dejun has hopped down from the stage to lean against the table Hendery’s sitting at, reaching around his guitar to clap for Ten. 

Ten eyes Lucas’ hovering hand with exaggerated skepticism, before turning a glare Hendery’s direction. 

However, he doesn’t have to say anything before Kun is snatching Lucas’ wrist and tugging on him. 

“Alright, it’s time for you to get back to work,” Kun says, attempting to yank Lucas back up to his feet. “And the rest of you can scatter too. You’re all way too obsessed with Ten’s sex life.” 

“_You’re way too obsessed with Ten’s sex life,_” Yangyang mocks with an exaggeratedly contorted expression. 

“He has a point,” Ten mutters, pulling his feet back onto the chair so that he can position his sketchpad against his thighs again. “I wish you guys put half as much energy into supporting my dancing.” 

“It’s not our fault your sex life is much more interesting than your dancing,” Yangyang hums, resting his hands on top of the amp to his sides and lightly swaying his feet. 

That has a hot pulse of anger shooting through Ten, and he sits bolt upright. “Really?” he snarls, leaning forward as though he might stand up. 

Hendery quickly rises from the table, rushing to Ten’s side and gently placing a hand on his shoulder. “He’s just kidding, Ten. We know how important your dancing is to you. Of course, we support you.” 

Ten frowns, but between Hendery’s big, innocent smile and Yangyang cowering on the amp like a kicked puppy when he looks over at him, he just can’t bring himself to keep up his anger. Sighing, he situates himself on the seat again and tries for what feels like the hundredth time to focus on his piece. 

Letting go of Ten, Hendery moves back into his seat. “So…” he says, trying to sound casual. “When are you seeing him again?” 

The question has Ten’s stomach twisting, but he narrows his eyes at his drawing, trying to force himself back into that mindset so he can avoid the present one. “I’m… not?” 

“What?” Hendery says, dumbfounded. 

“You got his number, right?” Dejun asks. 

“I did,” Ten admits. 

“Alright,” Yangyang says, standing up from the amp and walking over to the rest of them. He folds his arms over his chest. “So what’s the deal then?” 

“There’s no deal,” Ten says, finally resuming his drawing, despite his audience. “It was a one-night stand. That’s it.” 

“Have you talked to him at all since that night?” Dejun asks. 

That twist in Ten’s stomach tightens. It’s been a few nights since the club, but Johnny has yet to text him. More than once, Ten has looked at his phone a little quicker than he usually would when he heard the phone notifications go off, only to see it was someone else. He’s quick to stuff down any feeling that stirs before it fully forms though, trusting that his impulse reactions would fade on their own eventually. 

“Ah,” Yangyang sighs, dropping his arms and moving closer to Dejun, leaning against him. “With the way you two were at the club, I know you’ll hear from him soon.” 

“I don’t really care,” Ten says deadpan, continuing his drawing. 

Yangyang just smiles, tilting his head. “Sure, you don’t.” 

\-----

It’s a couple days later when Johnny texts him. It’s an innocuous text, simply asking Ten if he’s going to be at the corner that night and what drink he would like Johnny to bring, but the effect it has shows up on Ten’s face without him even realizing it. 

As the days passed, he found himself checking his phone less and less. Part of always being busy meant he couldn’t dwell on anything for long, including Johnny, so when he heard the notification go off while he waited for Hendery to meet him in the campus parking lot so he could take them home, he assumed it must have been from his roommate, eyes widening a little when he saw Johnny’s name instead. 

“What are you grinning about?” Hendery asked once they got in the car. 

“I’m not,” Ten had replied, the force of his cough betraying his attempt at casualness. 

He supposes some small part of himself really thought perhaps, Johnny, playboy DJ, really did see him as a conquest, and now that he had conquered said conquest, he had no reason to contact him. 

And Ten, who often catches the way Hendery dejectedly looks at his phone when his last text to Feng go unanswered, wasn’t about to go out of his way to initiate the contact first. 

Because it was fine. It was just a one-time hookup. Johnny didn’t owe him anything, nor the other way around, so he had no reason to concern himself with him. 

Except when Ten sees him again at the corner of Main Street, Johnny’s fingers brush against his and linger a little longer than they need to when he hands him his latte. He keeps asking him if he’s warm enough, rubbing his arm and offering his jacket. And as Ten stands a little closer to him, rolling his eyes when Johnny hits his vape mod for the umpteenth time, he thinks, perhaps, the sweet scent of strawberry vapor really isn’t that unpleasant. 

And maybe the casual way Johnny greets every stranger with his ‘sup?’ and ‘bros’ like they were old friends has a certain charm about it. 

And perhaps the stretch of ear gauges isn’t exactly Ten’s taste, but he can’t deny that they look flattering on Johnny. 

And maybe even if the screech from his headphones makes Ten grimace, the way Johnny periodically dances and sings along with the same enthusiasm as he would if the songs were blasted over the club’s sound system—unaffected by the judgmental eyes of various passerby—stirs a little something in Ten’s chest. 

Ten finds his lips pressing against the lid of his latte to keep them hidden more than once. 

“What are you doing after this?” Johnny asks, turning to face Ten, eyes bright and smile beaming. 

It’s easy to sink into, too easy, and for a moment, Ten considers putting off the obligations he had resigned himself to tonight, only for his sense of reason to come crashing in a moment later, reminding him that this is exactly why he had been okay with accepting their night as a one-time deal. Ten sighs, shaking his head. “I’ve been putting this essay off way too long, and I have to have it in by tomorrow night.” 

“What about Wednesday?” Johnny asks. 

“I have the practice studio booked that night,” Ten explains. 

“Friday?” 

“Closing shift at Luna’s.” 

Ten looks up at Johnny, his stomach twisting a little like he’s bracing himself for Johnny to lament his unforgiving schedule in some form or another. He can feel his defenses rising, ready to go off about how important his goals are to him and how hard he’s worked already to get where he is now and he really is just that busy that he can’t afford to put off anything another night. 

All those words gathered on his tongue never leave though as Johnny just shrugs, grinning in that nonchalant way he always does as he says, “Then I’ll see you when we pass out flyers next week.” 

“Yeah.” Ten nods, feeling almost a little delirious as all that tension ebbs away before ever reaching the edge. 

Johnny’s understanding. He’s always understanding, even when he asks Ten about other nights during different times. He never tries to pressure Ten into blowing any of his obligations off, never tries to force his way in and crowd him. Perhaps he understands because his own schedule isn’t much more flexible. Whatever the case may be, because of it, Ten can justify continuing to talk to him. 

No, he doesn’t have the time to introduce anything or anyone new into his current life, but Johnny’s never demanding anything from him. 

Even his texts are usually brief: a meme he found that he thinks Ten might find amusing (Ten almost always replies with an eye-roll emoji even though he’s grinning at his phone), sharing something random that happened that day that made him think of Ten, asking about when his next shows are, or inviting him to one of his own, though that always seems to end with Ten informing him that he’s already busy that night. 

**it’s cool :)** Johnny always replies with. **maybe next time!**

**maybe next time** Ten replies back. 

On a couple of occasions, however, Johnny asks about a night that Ten realizes he doesn’t have anything imperative that he needs to get done, and he rationalizes that if he’s mostly on top of everything, it’s okay for him to have a night to himself. It’s good for him to, even. 

And so, Ten finds himself tumbling into Johnny’s bed again. 

Really, Johnny’s consistent communication should dismiss his conquest theory, but Ten isn’t so sure. Since he realizes that Johnny’s schedule is just as tight as his, he probably doesn’t have the time to go chasing after new hookups every night, and having a consistent booty call would be a lot less work. 

Maybe that should make Ten feel bad, but as far as he’s concerned, that goes both ways. He and Johnny live in two different worlds, but they share an attraction and the sex is good, so what’s the harm? 

There isn’t any, so long as they’re on the same page about it. Ten has no reason to think they’re not. 

Still… as he falls back to Johnny’s bed for a third time, Johnny’s lips on his abdomen and a hand gliding up his inner thigh, there’s some small part of him that can’t help but worry about it, even if he wants nothing more than to clear his mind of anything and everything that isn’t Johnny’s sweet lips and talented fingers. 

“Johnny,” Ten whispers urgently, gasping when Johnny’s other hand slides up his body to thumb one of his nipples, the palm on his thigh curling to cup his crotch through his pants. 

“Johnny!” Ten croaks out a little louder. His hands find Johnny’s shoulders, taking fistfuls of his hoodie into his grasp and tugging. “Johnny, wait.” 

Johnny immediately stops, lifting his head and licking his swollen lips, concern evident in his eyes. “What’s up?” he breathes. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Ten manages between pants, nodding vigorously. He lightly worries his teeth into his bottom lip, fingers smoothing over Johnny’s shoulders. “Listen, I just… You’re great, this is great, but I don’t really have time for a relationship right now.” 

Laughter coughs from Johnny’s lips, his head falling forward. He pushes his hair out of his eyes when he lifts it to meet Ten’s gaze again. “Ah, Ten…” he sighs, shaking his head. “I got my hands all over you, and that’s what you’re thinking about right now?” 

“No, it’s not like that,” Ten insists, his fingers digging back into the fabric of Johnny’s hoodie. “I just… I’ve been thinking about it, and I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page, you know?” 

Johnny just grins. His hands move to the sides of Ten’s hips, and he dips back in to brush his lips against the skin right above the button of Ten’s pants. “It’s fine.” His thumbs roll against the curve of his hips while he lightly scrapes his teeth teasingly over Ten’s happy trail, making him shiver. “We’re just having fun. Nothing wrong with that.” 

“Nothing wrong with that,” Ten murmurs back, eyes closing and his fingers relaxing as Johnny gets his pants undone, sliding them down his thighs. The softness of the moment is interrupted by a sharp gasp escaping Ten’s lips when Johnny takes his sensitive member into the heat of his mouth, eyes screwing shut and toes curling. 

Ten gives in without further hesitation. 

There. He has nothing to worry about. They’re on the same page, and everything’s fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are very much appreciated! ♥
> 
> Find me on twitter at [ninissymbiote](http://twitter.com/ninissymbiote/)  
And on tumblr at [feyjungwoo](http://feyjungwoo.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is earlier than I usually update, but I had the time for writing this week and was feeling the muse, so here we are! 
> 
> Thank you, thank you once again to everyone who commented. I just can't thank you enough! ♥
> 
> 01/20/20 Update: I just wanted to note that I'm going to see SuperM in a couple weeks, and I've been really busy getting ready for that, and I haven't had a lot of time for writing. I HAVE NOT FORGOT ABOUT THIS FIC BY ANY MEANS, IT IS MY BABY. But this is on hiatus until I get back from that (the beginning of Feb). Thank you for understanding!

Ten is so immersed in his setup of the stage, down to the very last detail, that he doesn’t even quite consciously register the jingle of the front door bell of Luna’s going off behind him. He certainly doesn’t think to look back.

It’s not until he hears the screech of a chair being pulled out from the table nearest the stage followed by the distinct crackle of a vape mod that Ten’s attention is caught. Blinking behind his round spectacles, he turns his head to see, 

“Johnny?” 

The boy in question, leaning back in his chair with his long limbs all sprawled out, exhales a stream of vapor into the air above before lifting his head to meet eyes with Ten, a lopsided grin drawn across his face. “Tiny Dancer.” 

Rather than make any dramatic declarations of his astonishment, Ten turns away, returning to pinching the sheer silks he had hung to act as something of a makeshift canopy. “This is unexpected.” 

“Why is that?” Johnny asks. “Were you not just telling me the other night how your manager was riding your ass about getting more people in here?” 

“I was…” Ten admits with a tilt of his head. Stepping back, he looks up at his setup, deciding it’s to his liking and nods. 

“Well,” Johnny continues with another unmistakable hit of his vape. “I brought people.” 

“You did?” Ten blinks, spinning around. 

Johnny gestures over his shoulder, and Ten looks up to see two people at the counter placing orders. One of them Ten thinks he recognizes from the Blue Room, but his memory of unique faces from that night is a bit fuzzy. The other Ten’s sure he’s never seen. He’s got a broad jaw line and broader shoulders, and he looks like he’d fit better into a sports bar than this place. 

“I—“ Ten finds himself momentarily at a loss for words. Shaking his head, his attention returns to Johnny. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

Johnny just shrugs. “Why not? They needed to get out to a new place anyway. Besides,” he adds, sitting back in the chair and making himself right at home. “I like watching you dance.” 

Pressing his lips together when he feels the automatic way the corners twitch upward is turning into something of a habit for Ten when Johnny’s around. However, his eyes fall to a large strap dangling from Johnny’s neck, and they open more curiously. “What’s that?” 

Johnny looks down. “My camera.” Taking the camera into his grasp, he holds it up. Ten’s interest in photography isn’t comprehensive enough to automatically recognize the model, but from the sophisticated silhouette and extraneous attachments, he thinks it’s safe to assume that must’ve once cost Johnny a pretty penny. 

“I’m always looking to expand my portfolio,” Johnny explains, examining the back of the camera and rolling his thumbs over it casually. “And I thought, hey, it might help you with yours as well.” He looks back up at Ten, grinning. “If you’d like, of course.” 

“Sure,” Ten replies. He’s done TPF trades with other aspiring photographers on campus before, who probably had less experience than Johnny did with the lens, if the glimpses he caught in his bedroom were any indication. 

“Johnny!” 

They both look over to see Yangyang smiling and waving, and of course, Johnny greets him back just as enthusiastically. Lucas and Dejun are quick to look over curiously, and in a matter of moments, Ten’s friends are surrounding the two of them. 

Everyone except Kun, who is understandably manning the counter, though Hendery keeps his distance as well, hiding most of his face in a book, Ten not so proudly notices. 

Hendery may or may not have finally brought Feng to the apartment for the first time last week, and Ten may or may not have told him he was a fuckboy right to his face. His and Hendery’s interactions ever since have been fleeting at best. A part of Ten is sorry, but another part really isn’t. 

While everyone is eagerly surrounding Johnny, Ten takes that as his cue to sneak away. He has his backpack stashed behind the serving counter, and even though he’s not adorning his apron tonight, he still sneaks behind the counter. Crouching down, he takes off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose to try to will away the red spots they left. He rummages around until he finds the CD he burned of his musical selection, since Luna’s sound system is slightly dated. 

When he stands back up, he’s startled to nearly run into Kun, who is facing him with his hands on his hips. 

“What is this?” Kun asks. 

Ten blinks. “What?” 

Kun gestures out toward the tables, specifically the one Johnny’s sitting at with his amassed crowd, including his own friends, who have returned with their orders. 

“This,” Kun says. 

Ten’s stomach twists. If people thought that he was pretentious and elitist, then they truly had never met Kun. 

“Customers. Like you’re always insisting I bring in,” he offers simply, stepping his way around Kun. He knows he’s playing dumb, and it’s not something he likes doing, but some small, admittedly naïve, part of him hopes that maybe he can avoid this impending interrogation. 

Grabbing a rag from the bucket, Kun starts wiping down the counter around the espresso machine. “Dubstep boy?” 

Ten stops. Ah. It was truly naïve to think it could be avoided. 

“His name’s Johnny.” 

“Really?” Kun says. “You brought him here?” 

“I didn’t know he was coming,” Ten sighs. He turns back around to face Kun, but his eyes drift out to the tables. “And anyway, you’re the one always getting on me to bring more people in here, and he’s more people, so what’s the problem?” 

“Well,” Kun continues, his cleaning moving up to the espresso machine itself. “I just think it’s a little funny that you’re inviting him here now, given what you were saying about him initially.” 

Ten purses his lips. He knows what he said, and he knows how hypocritical it must appear now, but he also knows nothing he says to Kun on the subject is likely to be met with understanding. 

“What do you want me to do, Kun?” Ten presses the spot between his eyebrows with the corner of his palm then lets his arms drop to his sides, shoulders hunching. “Kick him out?” 

Kun says nothing, for a moment his attention thoroughly devoted to the already immaculate stainless steel his rag’s buffing, since Ten knows full well he isn’t about to kick out customers, no matter how much he disagrees with their musical and aesthetic expressions. 

Lucas’ signature laugh has Kun lifting his head and sniffing in distaste when he sees Johnny’s Blue Room friend clapping and throwing his head back, Johnny himself with eyes in crescents, cheeks round. 

Ten takes his silence as the end of the conversation and turns away, only to hear Kun murmur under his breath, “I would’ve expected higher standards from you, Ten.” 

The words hit Ten like a spike in the back. Spinning around, he holds the CD case in both hands, knuckles whitening. “Excuse me?” 

Kun looks him right in the eye, as though daring him to continue and spit whatever sharp retort he might have, ready to catch the words and turn them into leverage. 

Ten presses his lips together, willfully relaxing his grip of the case and swallowing anything that might get him into trouble. 

As the initial impulse of anger recedes, it occurs to Ten he isn’t sure if he’s feeling defensive over himself or Johnny. 

He doesn’t voice that though. Instead, he heaves a breath, shaking his head. “Does it really matter?” 

Because, yes, he gets it. These people are not their people, lacking sophistication and seemingly caught up in the superficial, unable to comprehend the finer depths of raw expression, and seeing them take so easily to the already too-much-on-his-own Lucas (not to mention Yangyang) is slightly unsettling. But while Ten could argue that maybe their presumptions about them might not be inherently true, the finer point of the matter is that Johnny and his friends are, in fact, customers presently, and they’re certainly not causing trouble. 

And _God_, Ten can’t help but think as the full weight of their exchange settles in with him, is that what he sounded like? 

“Of course, it matters,” Kun hisses. 

He huffs a breath, balling the rag into one hand as he turns to face Ten, abandoning the pretense of cleaning while making passive-aggressive quips. 

“Ten,” he says, and it’s almost unnerving how collected his tone and expression have become. “You are the hardest working person I think I’ve ever met. The amount of time and sacrifice you have made to reach where you are today is unprecedented. You’re so smart, and you _deserve_ to be on stages much grander than the meager corner of an all but obsolete café.” 

“Kun—“ 

But Kun shakes his head, stepping forward and placing a hand on Ten’s shoulder, which has him tensing on impulse, but he resists the urge to swat his hand away on account of the serious set of Kun’s gaze. “You deserve the big stages, the endless audiences. God knows you have the talent. And you’ll get there one day, I know it. With your determination and dedication, I know you’ll get there. When the scholarship comes back next year—“ 

And at that, Ten has to shake his head and laugh, trying to shoulder off Kun’s grip. 

“I mean it, Ten,” Kun continues, his hand sliding down to Ten’s bicep as though to hold him in place. “You’re going to get it. You’re so close, and you’ve worked so hard.” He finally lets go of him, taking a step back, fingers from both hands unscrunching his rag. “You’ve come a long way, and you have so much potential for where you can go. I’d hate to see you lose all of that because you got distracted by a cute face offering instant gratification.” 

For several moments, Ten doesn’t say anything, all that irritation he had built up converted into genuine humility, settling heavy into his core. 

Ten glances down at the CD case in his fingertips, scraping the rigid edge with his nails idly. The grin that appears on his face when he shakes his head feels a little forced, but he wears it anyway. “Kun, I understand your concern, and I appreciate it, I do, but things between Johnny and I aren’t that serious. We hang out now and again. We’re not together.” 

Kun turns away, shaking out his rag and taking to wiping down the back of the baked goods display. “Does he know that?” 

“Yes,” Ten insists. “Believe me, I made that clear from the beginning.” 

Kun just hums. 

“Besides,” Ten says, his gaze drifting back out to the tables. His brow lifts curiously when he sees that Johnny has left the group to go talk to Hendery, who appears to tentatively lower his book and just as tentatively return Johnny’s large smile with a more conservative grin of his own. 

“I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he gets bored and moves on. This place can’t be that exciting when you’re used to flashy lights and subwoofers.” 

“And are you prepared to deal with that?” Kun asks coolly. 

Ten rolls his eyes. “There’s nothing to deal with. I know what this is. I’m not Hendery.” 

“I hope so. For your sake.” 

Ten lets the conversation end, turning to crouch down to the fridge under the counter and helping himself to a bottle of water. As he comes back around the corner, his eyes automatically drift over to where the group is all gathered. Johnny’s sitting back down with the group, Hendery following after to do so as well, looking in higher spirits than Ten’s seen him in days. 

They’re chatting away and laughing. Even Johnny’s friends seemed to have taken in with the rest of them easily. Regardless of what Ten may have said or what the potential future may or may not hold, there’s no stopping the spread of warmth blossoming in his chest at the sight of Johnny smiling among all his closest friends. 

Nevertheless, Ten quickly gathers up the sensation and stuffs it back down, as though locking it away in some invisible case in his chest where it can’t get out. Kun made a fair point, and as he had said to him, it really was only a matter of time before Johnny got bored and moved on to other things… other people. 

The tables at Luna’s are nearly full and the lights are turned down low as a melancholic melody of piano notes overlaid by the poignant murmur of Amanda Palmer’s alto vocals play from the sound system. 

Ten’s fringe falls from his forehead as his head dips back, closed eyes facing the ceiling. His back is arched, wrist bent and fingers splayed as his arm glides elegantly over his head, the opposing leg extending and swooping from his body. They catch the sheer fabric of his makeshift canopy, stretching it taut so that it conforms to the outline of his face and body as he dips back and puffs his chest forward, like some ethereal creature trying to break free from an enchanted cocoon. 

Sure, he’s only in the meager corner of an all but obsolete café, but as far as Ten is concerned, he may as well be on a large stage for an audience of thousands, because once he steps out of the confines of physical reality to the more endless possibilities of his creative mind, once the music seeps into his veins, fueling every arc, every extension of his limbs, it doesn’t matter where he is. Ten’s expression is as important here as it would be in a grand hall or a street corner. 

When his performance concludes, the whole of Luna’s is clapping, his friends notably louder, but it’s Johnny standing up with that large smile that pushes his cheeks into his eyes that stands out to Ten most of all. Johnny places his thumb and forefinger against his lips, whistling sharply, and Ten has no place to hide the smile that breaks out on his face. 

Once his set is over, Ten takes down the stage with help from his friends and fetches his glasses from his backpack, helping himself to a latte as well. As he heads back out to the two tables where his and Johnny’s friends have taken over, he sees Hendery wearing that large smile of his while talking to Johnny. 

His steps slow down, mindful of how he should approach his roommate, who’s been giving him the cold shoulder for days now, but as Johnny looks up, Hendery naturally follows, and the grin remains on his face even as Ten draws near. 

“Ten,” Hendery says softly. “You did amazing tonight. You always do, of course.” 

Ten feels a weight lift off his chest. “Thank you, Hendery.” 

Ten looks over to see Johnny just watching them, grinning. He definitely seems to have an uplifting effect on people, his friends included. 

While sitting down talking to the group, Ten learns that the friend with the jaw line’s name is Jaehyun, and he happens to be Johnny’s roommate. It doesn’t take long for Ten to realize that tough guy exterior he carries practically melts away when he smiles, sprouting large dimples that show how soft he actually is. 

Johnny’s other friend is Mark, who Ten realizes he did correctly recognize from that night at the Blue Room. Mark talks a lot like Johnny, but he’s a great big dork when it comes down to it. 

They seem friendly enough, but Kun’s words sit in the back of his mind, and Ten finds himself reluctant to engage with them as enthusiastically as his friends do. 

Lucas is on the stage next, rapping verses of his poetic world perspective over simplistic but resonant hiphop beats. Ten often thinks that Lucas’ intellect leaves a lot to be desired, to put it mildly, but when he steps on stage and recites from his heart, he carries a completely different aura about him. 

A few people sit between him and Johnny, and the taller seems pretty immersed in Lucas’ talents, but his eyes flit over to Ten now and again, a hint of a playful smirk twitching on the corner of his lips every time their eyes meet. A faint grin always finds Ten’s lips before he’s suddenly deciding the lid of his is cup vastly interesting. 

Johnny is generous with his applause when Lucas’ set concludes—perhaps not as much as he was with Ten’s though. 

After which, he stands up, walking around to where Ten sits, nudging his shoulder. He holds the camera up with one hand. “You wanna have a look at how these shots came out?” 

Nodding, Ten stands up, excusing himself from the table so that he and Johnny can go sit down at one of the empty two-seater tables against the wall, sitting down across from each other. 

Johnny has a very relaxed way he holds his camera, fingers loose and thumbs swiping over the buttons on the back as he pulls the image files up. It’s that nonchalant manner in which he always carries himself that if Ten didn’t know better, he would think Johnny was being lazy and careless. 

But he is starting to know better. 

Johnny flips the camera around so that Ten can see the miniature screen. Setting down his now empty latte cup, Ten gently takes the camera and holds it up to his face, thumbing through the images and examining each one. 

Ten appreciates his TFPs with the kids on campus, and he can’t really complain, given how he ends up with free portfolio material when the cost of professional photographs doesn’t exactly fit within his tight budget. Still, the quality and skill of said photographs tend to stay in the beginner range. 

These photos though… Ten’s eyes widen the longer he looks through them. To capture the full movement and energy of a dance into a static image, it’s no easy feat. He can hear the impassioned piano chords, feel that thrum in his veins that he gets when he’s in motion. 

“You have a real talent for this,” Ten says, eyes flitting up to Johnny. 

Johnny shrugs, hitting from the vape mod now in his grasp and blowing a stream of what smells very sweet and tropical away from them. “Thanks.” His arms rest loosely against the table’s edge, eyes taking a playful glint as the corner of his lips curl upward. “It helps that I had a very good subject to work with.” 

That earns a chuckle out of Ten before his attention falls back to the camera screen, continuing to look through them. “I’m serious though. You have a real eye and feel for this. It’s hard to believe you took these in some run down coffee shop.” 

“Oh, come on, now,” Johnny says, sitting back and hitting from his vape again. “That’s part of the charm.” 

“I almost feel bad getting these for free,” Ten hums with a tilt of his head. “My bank account doesn’t though.” 

“It’s fine,” Johnny says. “It’s a TFP. It’s not like I was planning on doing it professionally or anything.” 

Ten looks up at him, blinking. “No?” 

“Well. Maybe,” Johnny quickly amends. He tilts his head back, pursing his lips contemplatively. “I mean, okay, I’d like to, but more like a side-gig, you know?” Setting down his vape mod, he leisurely reaches for his camera, which Ten hands over. “I enjoy it. I like learning new techniques and playing around with different things and experimenting with new stuff, but it’s still kind of more of a hobby. I like the more creative side to it. I don’t wanna be scraping a nine-to-five taking someone’s generic wedding photos.” 

Ten coughs out a laugh. “I completely understand that. Please don’t ever sell out.” 

“Sure,” Johnny grins. “But only if you don’t.” 

Ten looks at him pointedly. 

“I’m just messing with you.” Johnny reaches across the table, nudging Ten’s arm before slouching back and making himself comfortable once again. “Where do you want your dancing to take you?” 

Ten blinks, a little caught off guard, though he supposes he shouldn’t have been. “Everywhere,” he settles with, wistfulness underlying the simplicity of the word without his intention. 

It’s like Johnny’s unlocked something in him, something so potent and important, and Ten feels like he just wants to show it to everyone but at the same time hesitates to show it to anyone. “There’s no shortage of stages across the world, and I want to stand on all of them.” 

He tries to keep his composure, tries to conceal the way his heart beats, the way his body feels like it might drift off at the mere thought. Still, he can’t quite contain the upward curve of his lips or the glint in his eyes as he stares off at nothing in particular imagining it. “There’s so much to see, so much to learn, and I don’t ever want to stop, if I can help it.” 

“Wow.” 

Shaking his head out of his reverie, Ten looks across at Johnny, and for half a moment, he braces himself as though expecting to be met with judgment, but the consideration in which Johnny regards him is actually anything but. 

“Tiny Dancer.” Johnny sits up in his seat, leaning forward and resting his arms against the table. “Just when I think I can’t be any more impressed by you, you go and prove me wrong.” 

A laugh slips from Ten’s lips, but he presses them together, clearing his throat and sitting up a little taller in a more sophisticated manner as though to compensate for potentially exposing too much. 

Johnny leans in, lowering his voice a touch. “What are you doing here then?” 

Ten arches a brow. 

“There’s a whole world out there that you wanna see,” Johnny elaborates, gesturing with his hands. “Go see it.” 

“How very romanticized,” Ten coos exaggeratedly, clasping his hands together. Letting them fall, he sighs. “I barely get by staying stationary already, and I'm not about to abandon my studies.” 

“Fair.” Johnny nods. “But it’s not like this place is the be all, end all for education.” 

“Yeah…” Ten worries his lower lip, looking off and hesitating a moment. He shouldn’t bring it up, he thinks, but then again, what’s passed has passed, and it’s not like telling Johnny is going to hurt anything. “Earlier this year… I applied for a scholarship to study dance in London. I wasn’t picked.” 

“And?” Johnny shrugs, holding his palms up. “Apply next year.” 

Ten huffs out a humorless laugh, crossing his arms over his chest. “Everything’s just so simple to you, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Johnny replies as though that’s the most obvious thing in the world, lips curving into one of those cocky grins that Ten finds so infuriating yet… really can’t deny flatters his face so nicely. “Why complicate what’s plain and right in front of you?” 

“Being rejected once isn’t humiliating enough, I might as well put myself through it again, right?” Ten murmurs, resting his chin against his palm and staring at the wall. 

It’s not entirely rational, he knows. Despite knowing better, despite the endless words of support and encouragement he’s received—_there’s always next year; it wasn’t that he wasn’t good enough, it was just that they could only pick one and all the applicants were just as hardworking; it just wasn’t his time yet_—Ten’s emotional side just couldn’t help but take it as a personal failing. 

When struck just right, his emotions had this annoying way of completely overriding his sense of logic, no matter how sound said logic might be. 

“Who says you will be?” Johnny asks. “You realize some of the world’s most successful people were met with rejection multiple times before they hit their big break, right? What is this anyway?” Johnny’s face scrunches up, and he gestures toward Ten like he’s never seen him before. “Ten, so headstrong and determined to reach his goals, is just going to throw in the towel after one little setback?” 

“I’m not throwing in the towel.” Ten’s eyes narrow as they turn to Johnny. His features smooth a moment later, and he lowers his hand, idly pinching at the base of his empty paper cup. “Just acknowledging when certain courses of action aren’t going to take me where I want to go and considering new ways.” 

“You don’t know that it won’t,” Johnny persists. “You gotta get back up on that horse!” And if that statement wasn’t ridiculous enough, Johnny holds his hands out like he’s gripping reigns, hoisting one into the air and rotating it like he’s swirling a lasso as he bounces in his chair and sings, “_I’ve got the horses in the back~_” 

“Oh my God,” Ten groans, letting his head drop back exaggeratedly. 

“Oh, what, you don’t like that one?” Johnny asks. “How about… _Save a horse, ride a cowboy~_” 

“Stop it!” Ten reaches across the table to swat at Johnny. His arms fold snug against his chest as he sits back, pointedly looking away. “You’re so embarrassing. Why do I even talk to you?” 

“Because that’s the only way you can get to that good old-fashioned, homegrown, Johnny Seo brand Vitamin D~” 

Scoffing, Ten snatches his empty paper cup off the table and chucks it at Johnny, who easily deflects it while laughing. 

“Every time I think maybe I had you pegged wrong, and that maybe you actually are an insightful person, you go and ruin it,” Ten huffs. 

Johnny leans against the table again, wearing that dorky puppy dog grin that Ten can’t decide if he wants to smack or kiss. “I keep things fun. Admit it, you like it.” 

“I refuse to admit anything of the sort,” Ten says flatly. 

Running his fingers through his hair, Ten decides that he’s exposed enough about his dreams for one night and that he should turn the tables. 

“So where do you want your music to take you?” he asks. “Do you want to be a world famous DJ or something?” 

“Mm! Producer!” Johnny says with a raised finger. “I mean, I DJ too, but ‘DJ’ and ‘producer’ aren’t interchangeable terms. Common misunderstanding.” He then shrugs, looking down at his camera and fiddling with it as though Ten just asked him how he likes his coffee. “But I mean, that’d kinda be the end goal, I guess.” 

“You guess?” Ten raises a brow, eyeing him skeptically. “Is music a hobby to you too?” 

“Yeah,” Johnny answers, no shame. “I love making music, and I want to make money off it too, for sure, but once you start hitting in those big leagues, that’s when the labels own you, and you gotta worry about charts and trends and all that other bullshit. You become a total tool of corporate production. You’re not creating for you anymore, you’re creating for the system. Complete sellout territory.” 

Ten nods slowly, watching him with a considerate eye. Like all things about Johnny, it’s like he’s not taking it seriously at first, but then lo and behold, he’s put quite a bit of thought and work into it all along. 

“Okay,” Ten says. “How do you make money off of making music without going into sellout territory?” 

Johnny puffs out his lower lip and shrugs, abandoning his attention on his camera knobs in favor of examining the ceiling. “A residency on the Main Floor at Gamma would be nice. Big name on the local scene. I can still put out my music for a decent amount of followers, maybe snag some daytime stages at festivals. Reap the benefits of the big time players, but on a smaller scale, just enough that I can still do my own thing. Stay true to myself.” 

Ten’s brow creases curiously. “What’s Gamma?” 

Johnny snorts, looking over at Ten incredulously. “Only the hottest club in the city,” he says as though that’s the world’s most obvious statement. 

Ten shakes his head. “Why would I know that?” 

“I mean, I get it’s not your scene,” Johnny says, eyes finding Ten again. “But I didn’t think you were living under a rock.” 

“Forgive me for not keeping up with the scenesters,” Ten mutters. 

“Hey,” Johnny says, almost sounding offended, but his sense of playfulness is still evident. “I will forgive you once you come to Gamma with me so I can show you.” 

“No, thank you,” Ten hums. 

“Come on,” Johnny says. “I have yet to show you anything that you haven’t ended up liking.” 

Ten rolls his eyes, and then he sighs. “Like it or not, I just don’t have the time for that, Johnny Seo.” 

“Mmm, one day,” Johnny says. 

Ten just shakes his head. Behind him, he hears Yangyang’s voice distinctively squawking, and Ten furrows his brow, turning in his chair to see the younger boy standing on his own chair, acting a fool, while all the rest of their friends laugh. 

(Except Kun, who is hissing at Yangyang to get down.) 

Johnny chuckles, “Your friends are cute.” 

“That’s using the term loosely,” Ten says, eying Yangyang with distaste before shaking his head and turning away from them. 

“Don’t act like you don’t totally care about them,” Johnny says. 

“Of course, I do,” Ten says, folding his arms against the edge of the table. “They’re still idiots.” 

Johnny hunches his shoulders. “Your idiots.” 

“Indeed,” Ten sighs. 

“How long have you known them?” 

“I’ve known Lucas and Kun for a few years now. I can’t exactly remember,” Ten says. “Yangyang, Dejun, and Hendery, I met within this last year.” 

“And you all just like pretentious coffee or what?” 

Ten shoots Johnny a look but then goes on to explain, “We share some of the same classes. And we all come from families that wanted us to have wives and five kids, and have degrees in medicine or business, but instead, we’re the family disappointments that like art and other boys.” 

“Ahhhhh,” Johnny sighs, his gaze drifting off with that look that he understands exactly what Ten means by that. “That’ll bring you together.” 

Ten laughs dryly. “It sure has.” 

“That’s cool though,” Johnny says. “Can’t change the family you were born with, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make your own.” 

A small smile finds its way onto Ten’s face. “Yeah.” 

“We should probably get back to them,” Johnny says. “Your manager looks like he might have an aneurism, and I’d feel terribly guilty if I could’ve somehow prevented it.” 

Ten can’t help but think that Johnny might exacerbate that possibility rather than prevent it, but he also thinks they probably have secluded themselves off from their friends long enough, and he hardly needs to give them more reason to start asking questions once Johnny’s gone. 

He definitely doesn’t need to give Kun any more reason. 

Johnny, with his long legs, only takes a few strides to end up in front of Ten after they stand up, and as the latter follows, he can’t help but let his gaze fall to the way his jeans hug his surprisingly round ass. 

A smirk starts to form on Ten’s lips, but the looming memory of Kun’s words have him hesitating. 

_I’d hate to see you lose all of that because you got distracted by a cute face offering instant gratification._

He knows Kun is right, but then again, Ten only planned to go home and study tonight, and it’s not anything with a near deadline. 

He decidedly reaches for Johnny’s arm to stop him before they reach the tables. “What are you doing after this?” 

Johnny turns to look back at Ten with a smirk, eyebrows waggling. “You, I hope. Unless you have some academic obligations set in place already.” 

“Nothing critical,” Ten replies, grinning. 

Yeah, Ten couldn’t get distracted, and maybe Johnny would eventually lose interest and move on one day. But right now, he’s still interested, and if they’re both free tonight, then what’s the harm? That is the whole point of this friends with benefits business, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my vitality. ♥
> 
> Find me on twitter at [ninissymbiote](http://twitter.com/ninissymbiote/)  
And on tumblr at [feyjungwoo](http://feyjungwoo.tumblr.com/) (tbh, I'm on twitter quite a bit more)


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